Reverberations
by Antigone Rex
Summary: Post-Brotherhood Royai. In the wake of the Promised Day, Mustang and Hawkeye struggle to find normalcy. With a powerful new enemy and a growing Ishvalan Resistance looming at every turn, will they learn to understand one another before it is too late? Chapter 19: Mew
1. Hush

**Reverberations**

**By Antigone Rex**

**Chapter 1: Hush (_\ hŭsh \_) **

**1: _noun - _a silence or stillness, especially after noise **

**2: _verb_ - to calm or soothe  
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><p>A quiet mantle surrounded Central City. Now still and silent, there was little that remained of the incredible battle that took place mere hours before. The citizens huddled together in the safety and comfort of their homes, grateful for the simple grace of life. And who could blame them? Today they were unexpectedly confronted with the tenuous binding between body and soul.<p>

The silence inhabited the streets, sinuously flowing through hollow buildings destroyed alchemy and munitions alike. It soaked into the paving stones, muffling the sounds of boots as soldiers made their rounds. The inky silence even pervaded Central Headquarters, pooling on the empty throne once occupied by a homunculus-turned-Fuhrer.

The silence slowly flowed into the military hospital, where soldiers lay softly moaning. For many, their wounds were inflicted by men they once called companions. The quiet inhabited the soft scrape of nurses shoes as they tended to the dying. It crept into a room occupied by two war-worn soldiers, where it took up residence, coiling like a serpent, unseen by unseeing eyes.

Roy Mustang sat in his hospital bed, his bandaged hands clasped about his knees. His eyes were opened far too wide, as if attempting to drink the moonlight that filtered through the nearby window. For perhaps the hundredth time that day, his hand reached up to touch his eyelids to reassure himself that they were indeed open. They were. His head bowed, and his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Though his sight was gone, he could still see in his dreams. His nightmare earlier that night was a chilling testament to that fact. His smile slackened as he recalled the horrible images in his dreams: Blood-red eyes twisted in pain. A woman's hand, weakly suppressing lifeblood as it spilled between slim fingers. Flames consuming all.

He let out a low, wheezing laugh. How fitting. His only remaining sight would be a nightly torture. This punishment was far less than he deserved for all that he'd done. He closed his unseeing eyes, pressing his forehead into his knees. He was past exhaustion, but this silent blanket of darkness was far preferable to the thought of retuning to dreams that promised no rest.

He was started out of his reverie by the stiff rustle of hospital-starched sheets nearby. Only hours after he had been struck blind, he was amazed at how quickly his other senses swelled to fill the void of his lost vision. It felt like he had entered a foreign world; like he was experiencing scents, sensations, and sounds for the first time.

Another sound, this time the soft scrape of a bare foot on tile floor – he was certain of it. He cursed inwardly for laughing aloud earlier. He had woken his companion. As silently as he could, he slowly reclined back on to the hard pillow, closing his eyes in what he hoped looked like convincing slumber. More sounds of scraping came from the bed nearby as his companion fumbled with her slippers in the darkness. He heard her hand smack clumsily against the metal frame of the bed as she attempted to regain her balance. He fought the urge to get up to help her, reminding himself that he was supposed to be asleep. Regardless, he couldn't help but smile when she uttered a very unladylike curse under her breath.

Another rustle of fabric sounded to his left, followed by the soft hiss of a tightening sash knot. Then a moment of silence, followed by a muted sigh. He heard the soft pat of footsteps as his companion rounded the partition curtain that separated the two beds. His heart fluttered as he heard her approach. Rallying himself, he concentrated on his breathing, doing his best to appear as though he was sleeping peacefully. The footsteps stopped. She was there. If he but opened his eyes he would be greeted with a view of Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye's midsection.

_No you won't_. He reminded himself bitterly. _You will be greeted with darkness. _Unending, depthless, fathomless darkness.

He felt a soft breeze graze his cheek, accompanied by the whisking sound of cloth against cloth. _What is she doing?_ For a moment, there was thick silence. He imagined the feeling of warmth radiating near his scalp. Then, he felt her fingers softly comb through his unruly hair.

"You aren't fooling anyone, sir." Her melodic voice cut through the silence like a song.

Mustang started, his eyes opening slowly. His lips curled into a smirk. "You should be asleep, Lieutenant." He imagined the look of exasperation on her face and his smirk widened. He tried not to think about the pleasant feelings that stirred each time her fingers stroked though his hair. "You shouldn't even be out of bed."

"I…" she hesitated. Her hand faltered, resting lightly on his forehead. "I…can't sleep either."

Roy reached up, blindly grasping for her wrist in the darkness. His hand clasped around it securely. It felt warm and soft and _solid_ beneath his fingers. He sat up, gently pulling her alongside the bed, not daring to release his grip. In so many ways, this woman was his anchor; she was stalwart and steadfast when memories threatened to swallow him.

It was a long time before he spoke again. Riza waited patiently, utterly still.

"I… can't believe we did it." His voice was throaty, barely under control. His fingers tightened on her wrist. "We… survived." The implications of this statement brought back unbidden memories to both companions.

Riza shifted as flashes of her colonel played across her thoughts. Most of all, she recalled his eyes: Their wrath as he stared at her down the barrel of her gun, their anguish as she bled to death on the floor, and their emptiness after they had lost their sight forever. Tears pricked at the corner of her own eyes as she slowly raised her free hand to the nape of his neck. Her fingers twined into his hair.

With a shuddering breath he did not realize he was holding, Roy leaned his head forward, pressing his face into her middle. She smelled of solvent and mineral oil and gunpowder. He released her wrist, wrapping both arms around the small of her back. She buried her hands in his hair, making small, soothing circles on his scalp.

A sad smile slowly formed on her lips. "Yes. We did."

The silence that coiled through the room only moments before was dispelled by the sound of soft, shuddering sobs. Though the rest of the city was blanketed in a mantle of quiet, here - in this space - unspoken words forged from unspoken love cast the silence away.


	2. Purl

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 2: Purl (_noun \ pər-əl \) : the sound made by rippling water_**

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><p>Riza awoke to the sounds of chirping birds outside the window. Sunlight seeped through her closed eyelids, and she groaned softly. Her sleep had not been restful.<p>

She inhaled deeply through her nose, slowly stretching her legs under the starched hospital sheets. Her stiff body was a testament to the grueling events the day before. She experimentally arched her back, quickly discovering aches in muscles she did not even know she had. Her breath expelled in a muffled groan.

She longed to stretch her neck. The doctors refused to give her a pillow yesterday, worried that any "cervical tension," as they called it, would reopen her unstable wound. Instead, the nurse constructed a makeshift brace using a wad of rolled-up pillowcases to support Riza's neck. Though effective, it was far from comfortable.

Sounds of footsteps and quiet voices filtered through the nearby door. _Morning rounds_, she thought to herself. _What time is it?_ She unthinkingly turned her head to the clock mounted on the wall just to her left, and gasped as a sharp pain like the blade of a knife shot through her neck. She had forgotten about the damn wound. She shut her eyes tightly and sucked in a breath through her teeth to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape. _Stupid, stupid stupid!_

Eventually the throbbing pain ebbed away. She slowly opened her eyes, fingers softly probing the bandage on her neck to ensure that her wound wasn't bleeding. With a soft sigh of relief, she finally looked at the clock.

_Damn._ It was just past six in the morning. That meant that she only slept two hours last night.

_Last night_, she mused. Memories of a dark room swathed in silence drifted through her head. In the aftermath of the raging battle, the thick quiet had paradoxically roared in her ears. It pressed down on her, stealing her breath. Images flashed behind her eyelids each time they closed, barring her from sleep. She could not even indulge in the luxury of tossing and turning for fear of disturbing her wound.

Hours later, the quiet was broken by soft moans from the bed to her right. She hated it when he had nightmares. Though he never admitted it to her, she knew that they intermittently plagued him since Ishval. They were usually brief, but yesterday's events seemed to make them particularly vivid; the moans slowly shifted to guttural cries. Her heart tore when he choked out her name to the unforgiving darkness, and she shuddered as she recalled the memory that likely tumbled through his sleeping mind.

She knew something of nightmares. He was not the only one that relived the horror of Ishval and countless other atrocities in his dreams. She was about to get up and rouse him when she heard him stir and wake.

She waited in the quiet darkness, listening for his breathing to slow to the calm cadence of sleep. Instead, she heard him sit up. It wasn't long before she heard the rueful laugh that drew her from her own bed.

She blushed as she recalled how he clung to her, nuzzling his face into her stomach. She could still remember the feel of his hair through her fingers and the wet, hot tears as they soaked through her hospital gown. She couldn't help but cry with him. They had been through hell together and thankfully – impossibly – they both survived. Certainly not unscathed, but alive nonetheless. Her chest had filled with a warm feeling that slowly spread up the back of her neck and into her stomach. At the time, it felt like she might burst as the emotion filled, enveloped, and ultimately consumed her.

Now lying in the morning light, she covered her eyes in embarrassment. She crossed a line last night. A line that she faithfully toed since she pledged to follow him to the very end. Would there be ramifications? Awkwardness? Though she knew her colonel well, there were many things he did and said that remained a mystery to her. Hopefully there would be no mention of the event today. It had been a moment of weakness on both their parts.

She ardently avoided looking at the curtain that separated her bed from that of her commanding officer.

Her fretful thoughts were interrupted when she heard the soft creak of door hinges. Glancing over, she saw a young woman in a nurse's uniform tread softly into the room. Her arms were filled with a pile of folded cloth, topped with a large washbasin. Curls of steam rose from the top.

"You're up." The nurse did not look surprised. Riza recognized her quickly; the young woman had taken care of Havoc and Mustang after their encounter with Lust. Riza hand-picked her for her ability to stay tight-lipped when it came to sensitive information.

"Beth." Riza greeted her warmly. "Good morning."

Beth smiled cheerily as she set her burden on a nearby table. "How are you feeling? Here, let me help you up." She carefully supported Riza's neck and back to prop her into a sitting position. Smiling secretively, she slipped out the door only to return a moment later with a pillow in hand.

"Better?" Beth asked as she gently plumped the pillow behind Riza's back.

"Much. Thank you." Riza leaned back comfortably. "Ready to take on the world."

Beth gave her an appraising look. "Don't get ahead of yourself. You just got here last night." She handed Riza a small cup of water and a few pain pills. "We have to make sure the world's ready to see you. First thing's first – we need to get rid of some of that blood."

"Blood?" Riza's hand flew quickly to the bandage that encircled her neck. It was still dry.

"Ah, sorry to startle you!" Beth chuckled as she transferred the washbasin to Riza's bed. She patted Riza's hand comfortingly. "I was talking about all that dried blood left from your wound last night. The doctors did a great job bandaging you up, but they're terrible about cleaning up after themselves." She ran her finger along Riza's chin; dried bits of blood flaked off at her touch. "We nurses were so busy with the other wounded last night that we didn't have a chance to take care of things like this." Beth made tut-tut sounds as she fingered a few golden locks. "Look. It's in your hair."

Riza breathed a sigh of relief, then eyed the washbasin skeptically. "I'd much prefer a shower."

"Your bandages need to stay dry. Besides," Beth's voice took on a chastising air, "you know you're on strict bed rest, Lieutenant," She plunged a washcloth into the warm soapy water.

Riza cringed inwardly as she recalled her utter disregard of her doctor's order last night. She tried her best to look innocent.

"Now. Let's do this before all those handsome soldiers you work with show up." Beth began rolling up her sleeves. "I'm going to undo the back of your gown, okay?"

Riza stiffened. "The Colonel…"

Beth covered her mouth, giggling. "Oops. Forgot about him." A blush crept over the collar of her uniform. She winked at Riza, softly creeping around the bed to peer at the man behind the curtain.

Riza suppressed a frown. She suspected Beth – like so many others before her – had developed something of a crush on the Colonel during his last hospital stay. She never understood the effect that man had on young women. So much tittering. Mustang didn't help the matter, with all those charming and secretive smiles. It was infuriating.

"He's sound asleep." Beth reassured, her tone slightly more hushed. Riza pursed her lips, hesitating. "Oh, don't give me that look, Lieutenant. Even if there wasn't a curtain, he wouldn't see a thing."

Riza flinched visibly at the comment. The reminder of Colonel's blindness reopened the still-fresh wound that rent her heart.

Beth gasped. "Oh, Riza. I… I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…" She bowed her head like a child. "Please forgive me." Beth cursed herself inwardly for acting the fool. She should have known; she witnessed firsthand the bond that the Lieutenant and her Colonel shared during his last hospital stay. It was the subject of many jealous comments amongst the nursing staff. It was clear that this golden-haired warrior had a deep and profound hold on the famous alchemist.

Riza smiled weakly. "It's okay, Beth." She indulged in a glance at the curtain beside her. "Honestly, Colonel Mustang would find the situation ironically funny."

Beth smiled back, relieved. She plunged her hand back into the washbasin to retrieve the sopping washcloth. The water made soft lapping sounds against the side of the container.

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><p>The sound of falling water always filled Mustang with unease. Rain had been his undoing more times than he cared to admit. It was a blatant – and at times embarrassing – weakness of his fire-based alchemy.<p>

Waking to the sound of dripping water and complete darkness made the experience doubly unpleasant. For a moment, he forgot where he was or how he had gotten there. Panic rose to the back of this throat as his naked fingers groped desperately for his gloves.

Reason interceded. He was in the hospital. He could feel the hard bed and stiff sheets under his hands. The scent of antiseptic permeated the air.

And he remained blind. He suspected it might take some time to get used to waking up to this unending night.

Another splash sounded to his left, followed by the sound of tinkling water. "Okay, face and hair done," a woman's voice murmured. "Now let's get your back."

"My… back?" Mustang recognized Hawkeye's voice immediately.

"Yes." The other woman's voice was dry with amusement. "Your back, Lieutenant. Then we can get you into a clean gown."

With a jolt, Roy Mustang realized the wondrous event occurring at that very moment. Just beyond a thin curtain, his Lieutenant was receiving a sponge bath… from another woman. How wonderful.

Mustang silently cursed his unseeing eyes. How terrible.

His imagination interceded to fill the void.

He wished Havoc were there. He, of all Mustang's staff, would truly appreciate this moment. The colonel imagined the fair-haired soldier – the snide comments and snickers. Mustang frowned, then immediately retracted his wish.

Apparently, the bather was having some difficulty with her bathee. "Come on, Lieutenant. We're both women here. You'll feel so much better when this is done. It will just take a second…"

"Um…" Riza stalled. Mustang understood her reluctance. Hawkeye's back was a sensitive topic – even between the two of them. As such, he was surprised to hear a resigned sigh behind the curtain. "Fine." Soon after, he heard the soft sound of cloth on cloth.

There was a long silence.

"What…?" The nurse's voice whispered, horrified.

Mustang would never forget the first time he beheld the masterwork inscribed on Hawkeye's back. At first, he was astonished when the young woman, back facing him, hesitantly removed her top. His shock was quickly replaced with awe. Alchemically, the array was perfect. The product of years of research, its serpentine lines spelled the untold secrets of flame. Its canvas only enhanced its beauty: The tattoo swirled into the soft curve of Riza's spine. It flowed and eddied over her shoulder blades. It dipped precariously into the dimples at the base of her back. It was exquisite.

And he ruined it – as he had so many other things. He imagined the nurse taking in the burns that marred the perfect array.

Hawkeye's voice was clear and calm. "Please do not mention this. To anyone."

"Of… of course." After a moment, water splashed again. Unbidden, Mustang's imagination followed suit.

It seemed the nurse was anxious to finish, as the remainder of the bath did not take long. Soon, Mustang heard the rustle of fabric and murmured instructions as she helped Hawkeye into a fresh gown.

"Thank you." Hawkeye's voice was slightly clipped. "I _do_ feel better."

"Of- of course." The nurse stuttered, still unnerved. "I'll go get some breakfast for the two of you."

"That would be most welcome."

The nurse scurried out of the room; the door hinges creaked slightly as she closed it behind her.

"Good morning, Colonel." Hawkeye's voice was laden with sarcasm.

He jumped, flailing blindly. In his panic, he managed to topple a glass resting on his beside table. The water fell to the floor with an alarming splash. "How do you _do_ that?"

"You should really learn to control your breathing, sir." She said simply. Despite the deadly calm of her voice, he could tell she was smiling. She paused, considering. "Or should I say… panting?"

To his credit, Mustang recovered quickly. His mouth twisted into a smirk. He was a master at this game, and she was treading on dangerous ground. "Lieutenant," he teased. "I'm shocked. How could you even _think_ such a thing of me?"

"Years of observation, sir."

Mustang emitted a single barking laugh. It felt incredible to joke after the intensity of the past few days. They were safe. He felt the warmth of sunlight as it streamed from the window. Birds chirped cheerfully, oblivious to the horrors that occurred the day before.

The two soldiers enjoyed a moment of companionable silence.

"In all seriousness, Lieutenant…" Mustang began. His hands twisted unconsciously into his sheets. "How are you feeling?"

"Well enough, sir. A little bruised, but I expect I'll recover soon enough."

A beat of silence. "Hn."

Clearly Hawkeye was not ready to discuss the intimate moment that occurred last night. He had to admit he was somewhat relieved; he had broken down completely. It somehow seemed wrong to violate the sunny, peaceful morning with such intimate, secret things. Knowing Hawkeye as he did, Mustang suspected she would be completely content to never mention the moment again.

Pursing his lips, he resolved that he would not let that happen. There were too many things left unsaid between the two of them. Too many feelings ignored as they plotted to forge a better Amestris. But she wasn't ready.

He would be patient.

The door creaked again. He heard the clattering sound of dishware perched precariously on a tray. The welcome scent of coffee perfumed the air. "Here we are." Suddenly, Mustang recognized the nurse's voice.

"Beth?" Mustang called. A charming smile spread on his face.

"Co- colonel!" Beth said breathily as she drew back the curtain that divided the two beds. He could practically feel the heat of her blush as it spread across her cheeks. His ears caught a low growl from Hawkeye's direction, and his grin took on a sheepish air.

He once tried to explain his womanizing to Hawkeye. Why wouldn't a man raised in a brothel have a special affinity for the gentler sex? He couldn't help it. He wasn't to blame. His excuses inevitably fell on deaf ears.

As Beth busied herself with setting up breakfast, Hawkeye remained conspicuously silent.

Mustang tried to convince himself that the unnerved feeling in his gut was from the purling sound of coffee as it splashed into a waiting cup.

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><p>Red eyes flashed angrily. She screamed in despair as her fist slammed into the shabby transistor radio. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Blood dripped from her knuckles.<p>

The official announcement just came in from Central. That bastard still lived. What was worse, he was a damn hero. Again.

_That murderous bastard._ Her chest filled with rage. Her hands clenched at her sides. _He always eludes the justice he deserves. He has never atoned for his sins._

She squeezed her eyes shut. Gradually, she regained control over her fury. She refused to wallow in her own hopelessness. Perhaps… perhaps this was a blessing in disguise.

A slow, wicked smile spread across her face.

Yes. She would be the one to do it. He would know her pain. She would destroy those closest to him. Then, when he had suffered as she suffered, he would know her wrath.

_Vengeance, Mustang._

The room was silent but for the soft splash of blood against the earthen floor.

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><p><strong>AN:It's kind fun to write creatively for once. I really appreciate the reviews thus far (especially from a certain Royai writer I greatly admire). Constructive feedback is always appreciated!**

**Next Chapter: Toll  
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	3. Toll

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 3: Toll (_noun_ /tōl/ ) **

**1: the sound of a bell rung slowly at regular intervals **

**2: loss or damage incurred through an accident or disaster **

**3: value measured by what must be given or undergone to obtain something**

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><p>"Your move, Colonel."<p>

Rain pattered against the hospital window. A chill draft leeched through the sill.

Shivering, Mustang sighed. "Sir, this can't be fair. Surely you have better things to do than beat a blind man at chess."

Grumman chuckled. "What could be more pressing than a friendly game?"

Mustang remained silent, though his thoughts bordered on sardonic. _Perhaps tending to a country that just underwent a violent coup?_ Grumman was a man known for his eccentricities, but surely even he knew how fragile the situation would be in the ensuing months. Though the government retained its strict, military structure, Central remained in disarray.

However, a game of chess was never just an idle pastime for Grumman; Mustang suspected the General-turned-Fuhrer-elect had an ulterior motive for his visit.

_This wily coot intends to use me. But to what end? _Mustang mused*. For now, he decided to play along. "Knight to G7. How goes the transition?"

Grumman tsked reprovingly as he moved Mustang's piece. "Smoother than we could have hoped for. I imagine things will be settled within the week. It helps that I have the endorsement of the former first lady." Though the two officers were alone, Grumman's voice lowered conspiratorially. "That radio stunt of yours was well-played."

Mustang shrugged, playing at nonchalance. "We had to control the flow of information." He heard a soft thump as Grumman moved his own chess piece. "It kept citizens out of the line of fire and relatively safe."

"Hmmm. I've never heard 'safe' and 'ignorant' interchanged like that."

"I prefer 'blissfully unaware,' Sir."

Grumman cackled. "Indeed. Queen to D2." Mustang heard a wooden creak as the soon-to-be Fuhrer leaned back in his chair.

Mustang had to admit he was somewhat grateful for this distraction. Four days in a hospital bed left him stir-crazy and hungry for fresh news. His subordinates did their best to keep him well informed, but Mustang knew many things occurred behind closed doors. The Colonel felt like he was playing a giant game of chess three moves behind an unseen opponent. He had busied himself in as many ways as he could; however, his room felt like a stagnant prison after the activity of the past few weeks. His roommate wasn't exactly known for her lively conversation, either. _Speaking of Queens…_

"Any issues from the Ice Queen?"

"Surprisingly no." A hint of exhaustion crept into Grumman's voice. "I suspect she knows that the… misinformation that circulated during the conflict would not aid her climb to the top."

"You mean the intel leaked to the Central soldiers during the battle." The leaders at Headquarters quickly identified General Armstrong as one of the coup leaders; Central soldiers were ordered to attack the General as soon as she infiltrated the capitol. Unfortunately, the very same broadcasts incriminated Mustang as well. Though the reports did not reach the public at large, they remained a flaw on their military records where seeds of doubt might take root.

Not for the first time, Mustang cursed Grumman's notable absence during the conflict. The General's hands-off approach assured that his own reputation remained pristine. _And Armstrong and I took out all his competition in the process._ Mustang had to admit that Grumman knew how to play a beautiful game.

He probed further. "What about casualties?"

Grumman made a sound like he was trying to get gristle out of his teeth. "More than I'd like. The current count remains at 173, with about the same number injured. Nothing compared to Ishval, but even one life lost is too much for me. A high price to pay."

Mustang nodded. Silence stretched between the two soldiers.

"Your move," Grumman prompted.

The colonel threw up his hands helplessly. "Honestly, Sir, I can't remember where I put any of my pieces."

"Such a shame. You were doing quite well." He began to collect the pieces and carefully place them into the chessboard's compartment. "I hear you've been doing some reading." Grumman continued conversationally.

"Yes." Mustang kept his tone even. Gumman was probably well aware that Breda and Feury recently checked out every existing text on Ishval from the military library. The books were piled conspicuously in the corner of the room.

"It seems to me that there is a new opening for major general at Eastern Headquarters. Such a high-ranking officer would be in an excellent position to lead the reconstruction efforts in Ishval."

"Is that so, Sir?" Mustang smirked. "It seems to _me_ that my previous commanding officer referred to Eastern Headquarters as a 'dead end' position."

Grumman laughed. "He was mistaken. In fact, someone from Eastern just so happens to be in position to become the new Fuhrer. Perhaps that trend will continue when it comes time to find his successor."

Mustang pursed his lips thoughtfully. "And the military's policy on blind officers?"

"Don't oversell yourself, Roy. That lieutenant of yours does most of your paperwork. She is exceptional at forging your signature, by the way."

"I'll pass along the compliment."

Grumman changed topics smoothly, although his voice took on a serious edge. "I heard that Tim Marcoh visited you earlier today. Rumor has it that he is in possession of a Philosopher's stone."

_Only a few days as interim leader, and he already has eyes and ears everywhere. This man is indeed formidable. Wonder who talked?_ "Yes."

"And?"

The colonel turned his sightless eyes towards the window. "I'm waiting to use it on someone that deserves it more than I do. After the stone heals him, I'll ask Marcoh to restore my vision."

"I see. Well…" Grumman clapped the two halves of the chessboard together and stood. "It's all settled, then!" He paused at the door. "I'm planning to have a little – ah – private celebration at my home next week. I hope you and some of your subordinates might join us."

"Thank you, sir."

"Until then, Mustang."

Outside, the lunch bell pealed sonorously through sheets of falling rain.

* * *

><p>Ashika ducked into the alleyway that led to the Ishvalan slums. She was late; she heard the noon bell toll several minutes ago. Thick drops of rain dripped from the eaves, soaking through her thin hood. The streets here were empty; most of the Ishvalans that lived in this area had already made their way below ground for noon head swung back and forth as she searched for the mark.<p>

_There it is_, she thought grimly. A simple slash of red paint graced the wall of a nearby shanty. An uninformed observer could easily overlook such a simple smudge, but any Ishvalan would quickly recognize it as an entryway to a temple.

Ashika quickly slipped into the miserable shack. In the dim light, she could just make out an opening at the rear of the dwelling. It led to a cool passage that steeply pitched downward under the streets.

Ishvalan refugees kept their religion alive but very secret. Though not explicitly barred from practicing Ishval in Amestrian cities, it was not welcome. Too many temples burned in the years following the Civil War; the safest way to maintain their beliefs was to hide underground. Ishval was a religion born of sacrifice and hardship. It would not be easily squelched under the booted heels of Amestris soldiers.

Ashika stole quietly into the rear of the temple. A Cleric stood at the altar at the opposite end of the room, his arms uplifted. Worshipers knelt in rows, offering soft prayers to Ishvala. Nearby, the Sounder slowly tolled the worship bell. She could see rags peaking from the bottom of the instrument; it was important to keep the sound muffled to prevent people outside from overhearing the secret ceremony.

She quickly identified her target. The man sat cross-legged at the back of the congregation, head bowed in prayer. Ashika silently knelt next to him.

"Late." He murmured, lips barely moving.

Ashika did not reply as she tugged her hood further over her face. Times like these made her grateful that Ishvalan women covered their heads during worship. She carefully reached into her robe and withdrew a small package. "Your payment."

The male Ishvalan's head bowed incrementally as his fingers took hold of the money.

She did not let go. "First the information."

He scowled. His eyes darted into the recesses of her cowl, then widened in surprise. "So the rumors about you are true."

Ashika fought the urge to duck away. She was weary of the staring eyes and gaping mouths.

"Information." The word was a command.

The male Ishvalan tore his eyes away from her visage. His voice was soft and urgent. "Mustang is currently admitted to the main military hospital, room 412. Guards accompany him at all times. He is due to be discharged tomorrow. Lieutenant Hawkeye is to be discharged in two days." He tugged at the package experimentally. Ashika gripped it tightly.

"That is all you offer?" She struggled to keep her voice below a whisper while still injecting menace. "I asked for _everything_, including all comings and goings."

The man growled in irritation. "I was getting to that. He's had the usual cadre to his room. Lieutenant Breda and Sergeant Fuery, along with every book on Ishval the Central Library has to offer. Also two doctors - Knox and Marcoh. You may recognize their names from the war."

She sneered. Yes, she remembered them, though their names did not burn in her breast that way Mustang's did. "So, the war hero intends to make his triumphant return to Ishval. Anyone else?"

"Only one nurse tends to both the Lieutenant and Colonel: A woman called Beth Jacobs. I am also told Lieutenant Havoc is due to return soon. Why… I do not know."

Ashika held the money for a moment longer before releasing it. "Speak of this to no one. My appearance isn't the only rumor that rings true about me." She rose smoothly.

"You aren't staying for prayers?" His tone mocked her.

Her steely voice betrayed no trace of regret. "I no longer deserve to stand in Ishvala's presence."

As Ashika made her way back to the surface, she heard the muted sounds of the worship bell reverberate off the walls of the tunnel. They seemed to hound her, rousting her from the peaceful haven.

* * *

><p>"Fullmetal." Hawkeye called to the former alchemist.<p>

"Lieutenant!" The young man's golden eyes lit up. "You're looking better. Here, let me help you…" He reached out for her IV pole.

"Better not," she warned. "This thing is keeping me upright more than I'd care to admit."

"Oh." He gave her an appraising look. His striking eyes seemed to pierce right through her. "Should you even be out of bed?" Ed fell in beside her as she made her slow way down the hospital corridor.

Hawkeye shrugged. The action tugged painfully on her neck. "I needed to stretch my legs." _And get out of that damn room for a bit_, she added internally_._ It was difficult to rest with Breda and Feury in the room. They drilled Mustang on the nuances of Ishvalan culture and commerce almost constantly for the past two days. The nursing staff had to veritably force them out last night. Riza was grateful when Grumman ousted the pair of them before lunch today; she took the opportunity to duck out of the room while she had the chance.

"How is Al?" She asked.

"I think he might be trying to catch up on the sleep he missed over all these years." Ed grinned happily. "He's taking another nap."

"Will you boys be heading home soon?"

Ed shook his head. "Al needs time to get his strength back. We won't even leave the hospital for a couple weeks. The doctors said we have to wait… they're worried about something called refeeding syndrome."

Riza smiled sympathetically at the young man. She wasn't sure when it happened, but Ed had matured since she last saw him. He seemed so young when she first met him. Just a kid that carried a terrible burden and a huge chip on his shoulder. Now he stood with confidence. It leant to his height. Somewhat.

She glanced at his right arm. "How does it feel to have it back?"

Ed gripped his shoulder and did some experimental circles with the atrophied limb. "Can't complain!" The cheery smile spread to encompass his entire face. It was infectious.

He paused, as if suddenly remembering something. His smile slipped, and his eyes drifted away from her. His next words seemed to come with some effort. "How is the Colonel?" he asked guardedly. The young man would never admit as much, but Mustang earned a great deal of the boy's begrudging respect over the past few days.

"He's well. The doctors say his hands should recover with few limitations to their movement." She briefly recalled the relief she felt upon hearing the news. To lose his vision was one thing, but to lose dexterity in his hands… It was a death sentence for an alchemist. She frowned at the thought.

Ed must have been watching her face, because his smile slowly disappeared. His head bowed. "Al and I… we talked about his eyes. To get his sight back… We can't… The toll is too…"

"Don't, Edward. Just stop there. What happened is not your fault." Riza placed a comforting hand on Ed's shoulder. "You boys always take too much on yourselves. Colonel Mustang chose to be there that day. As did I."

Ed squeezed his eyes shut, nodding. Riza sighed. Ed was incapable of feeling any emotion halfway. His heart was always on his sleeve, plain as day. In some ways she envied his immodesty.

Riza hesitated for a moment, deliberating whether she should share their plan for the Philosopher's stone. Mustang and Knox had agreed that it would be best to keep Marcoh's involvement – and his possession of the stone – secret for as long as possible.

_However_, Riza mused, _Fullmetal will know exactly 'how' and 'who' the instant he learns the Colonel got his vision back_. It would be impossible to prevent the young prodigy from learning the truth. She exhaled sharply though her nostrils. _He deserves to know this from us now, not secondhand and after the fact._

"Ed." Riza caught his gaze. "The Colonel's vision loss… it may not be permanent."

"What do you…?" Ed's intelligent eyes searched her face. Comprehension dawned in the golden orbs. "He means to use a…?" Ed's mouth tightened into a firm line. "He can't. He wouldn't."

Riza remained expressionless. She knew how Ed felt about the Philosopher's stone. He refused to use one only a few days before – even to restore his brother's body. Ed valued human life above all else. That much became clear the night he faced Envy in the forest. She remembered his reluctance to take her gun. _A weapon for killing people_, he had called it.

"Where is his room?" Ed's words came out carefully measured.

"I'm headed there myself. Join me?" Ed nodded, and they made their way down the corridor, Riza shuffling in her slippers. "It's just there." She nodded to the door marked 412. An Amestrian soldier stood just outside.

"What's with the guard?"

"A precaution," she reassured. _Mostly to make sure the Colonel stays out of trouble while I'm away._ The soldier held the door for her, saluting briefly as she entered.

Colonel Mustang stood at the window. His fingers gripped the sill. Rays of afternoon sun peaked through the slowly dissipating rain clouds. The light framed his mussed hair and glinted off its ebony strands. He seemed to be lost in thought.

Riza shut the door behind Ed. "Colonel, I - " she began. Mustang whipped around to face her.

"Where have you been, Hawkeye? You said you'd be gone for a few minutes. It's been _two hours_."

"Sir, I - "

"You know I'm going insane pent up like this. And you leave me _alone_?"

"Well, you - "

"Grumman had a lot of _interesting_ things to say. Once Havoc gets back we - "

"_Sir_," her fervent tone finally stopped his tirade. "You have a visitor."

Mustang froze.

Ed's voice held a hint of amusement. "Hello Colonel."

"Fullmetal." Mustang deadpanned.

"Good guess."

Riza sighed as she wearily leaned against the IV pole. The two alchemists seemed to take delight in their senseless spats, but Mustang didn't like being caught off guard. She predicted the Colonel would have a few choice words for her the moment Ed left.

"I apologize for not welcoming you right away," Mustang said caustically. "I've been having this problem with my eyes lately."

"About that, Colonel" Ed said seriously.

Riza shook her head. _Impetuous as always. The boy doesn't waste time thinking before he speaks._

"Colonel, do you intend to use a Philosopher's stone?"

Mustang gaped for a moment, then frowned. His blank eyes swung in Riza's direction. _Perhaps he will have more than a few choice words for me_, Riza amended.

"What would give you that idea, Fullmetal?" Mustang hedged.

"Your Lieutenant might have mentioned something."

Mustang's eyes narrowed at Riza disapprovingly. Though they blindly aimed just over her shoulder, they were no less disconcerting. Riza enjoyed the Colonel's absolute trust, but she was not beyond his reproach.

"I imagine you'll use Marcoh's stone?" Ed accused. He nodded to himself, not waiting for an answer. "They were Ishvalans, Colonel. People. Their lives were _stolen_ by Amestrian alchemists. Do you really want to be a part of that cycle of pain?" The Colonel flinched.

"Ed…" Riza warned.

Mustang sighed. "I know the price of a Philosopher's stone, Fullmetal." It was forged with Ishvalan souls, unwillingly taken. "As terrible as it is, their lives cannot be restored. I want to honor their sacrifice and make amends." His voice was resolute. "But I'm much more good to Ishval with my vision intact. Besides," Mustang entreated, "It's not just for me, kid. I want Havoc to have his legs back."

Ed deliberated for a long moment, his brow furrowed. "I can't say I approve, but I do understand."

Mustang's eyebrow twitched. "Since when do _I_ need _your_ approval?"

"Since you turned into a blind invalid!"

"Invalid? All I need to do is clap, you stunted punk…"

Riza sighed with relief. The petty squabble was a good sign. _Crisis averted_, she thought as she shuffled her way to her bed.

Golden eyes followed Hawkeye as she climbed under the sheets. Ed's jaw dropped. "Wha-? Lieutenant, you didn't tell me this is your room, too." His head whipped between the two adults. A blush blossomed on his cheeks and his voice climbed an octave. "Isn't there some kind of military policy against these things?"

Ed's flustered tone was just the leverage Mustang needed. His face relaxed into a smirk. "This is a hospital, Fullmetal. What on Earth do you think we're _doing_ in here?" He paused for a moment to make sure he enjoyed the full effect of his next statement. "Thinking of enjoying some time with a lady yourself? Perhaps with a certain automail mechanic?"

Ed sputtered incoherently.

Mustang turned to his Lieutenant. "Hawkeye, please tell me his nose is bleeding."

Riza studiously ignored the request, instead opting to pick up a nearby book on Ishvalan dual cropping techniques. She rifled through it idly. In truth, there _was_ a strict military policy against co-ed bunking. Higher-ranking officers could override the rule in emergency situations. Or in Mustang's case, when one knew which strings to pull. A few whispered words to a couple hospital officials ensured that the two of them remained together rather than separated by several floors. She was grateful; she could not imagine what the first night would have been like if she spent it with a stranger.

It seemed that Ed didn't have the energy to put up an offensive front today. "I should go," he growled. He turned to Riza. "It was nice seeing _you_, Lieutenant." She nodded.

"Fullmetal." Mustang's voice stopped the young man at the door. The former alchemist stiffened. "…Say hello to your brother for me."

Ed's face softened. "Sure."

Mustang turned toward Hawkeye the instant the door clicked shut.

"Mind explaining, Lieutenant?"

"He deserves to know, Sir." Her voice lost its clipped tone. She slumped tonelessly in the bed. "After all those boys have been through, they deserve to know."

The Colonel sighed. Shuffling forward cautiously, he groped for the edge of the bed. Riza immediately threw back her sheets to get up and help him.

"No. I can manage."

"Sir, until you get your sight back, you may need help with some things."

"I can make it to my bed just fine."

She leaned back reluctantly. She hated seeing him helpless like this. He was such a stubborn man. It would be difficult to get him to accept assistance once he left the hospital. Worse, she had the sinking feeling that he thought he deserved this affliction. To him, it was a just punishment for all he'd done. Equivalent exchange. Any bruise he suffered from his blind stumbles was a well-deserved reminder of his past follies.

Mustang's hand finally met the mattress. He grinned at her triumphantly. "Ha!"

"You mentioned Grumman earlier, Sir?"

"Yes." He sat on the edge of the bed, turning his torso toward the sound of her voice. "As I predicted, he's sending me back East. I'm to head the preliminary development of infrastructure in Ishval, and establish peaceful relations with their leadership. "

"You don't sound happy about it."

He sighed. "Don't get me wrong. I am. It's just a little too… convenient. Grumman needs me out of the way while he establishes control. I think he perceives me as a threat."

Knowing the Colonel couldn't see, Riza indulged in a proud smile. _Of course you're a threat_, _Colonel. You're a war hero and vigilante-protector of Central. You're charming. You have boundless charisma. You're incredibly intelligent. More importantly, you've grown wise and capable._

"Still," the Colonel continued, shrugging. "I can't turn this opportunity down. I need to do this, Riza. As recompense for all I've done." He swung his legs up onto the bed.

"You have my support, Sir."

Mustang smiled. "Somehow I knew I wouldn't have to ask."

"You never will."

Mustang's eyes fixed on her, sightless and intense. Riza couldn't interpret the expression on his face, but she felt heat blossom in her stomach. A dull ache pressed on her chest; it felt like her emotions pooled there, threatening to crush her under their weight. Her heart stirred and fluttered in a strange, syncopated rhythm.

"Do you think I should use it? The Philosopher's stone?"

"Yes."

"Just like that? Not even a pause?"

"Like you said, Sir, you're far more useful with your sight intact." _And I need you back. You're vulnerable now__. I'm afraid for you._

"Are you calling me useless, Lieutenant?"

"Of course not, Sir. You are very capable of locating your bed without assistance. Well done."

Mustang chuckled. "He offered to make me his successor, you know. Grumman."

"Offered?"

"Well… implied. I have the feeling he implied the very same thing to Armstrong."

Riza frowned. _Grumman is definitely an improvement from the previous head of state, but he is not interested in democracy_, she mused._ Nothing will change during his rule as Fuhrer. If Armstrong were to succeed him, she would preserve and maintain the military government. What price must we pay to give power back to the people of Amestris? What will it take to get the Colonel to the top?_

She looked at the man in the bed next to hers. She believed in him. She would fight for him.

Whatever the cost.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was surprisingly hard to write! **

**As of this point, the bare bones of the story are outlined. Highly subject to change! That means this thing does have a direction and intended arc (I hope).**

**I really appreciate the reviews! More, please! Please?**

**Next Chapter: Knock**


	4. Knock

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 4: Knock (\ nok \ ) **

**1: _noun – _the sound of a strike or collision**

**2: _verb_ – to strike a surface noisily to attract attention, esp. when waiting to be let through a door**

**3: _verb _– to make or force by striking with a blow or blows**

**4: _verb, informal_ – to engage in trivial or carping criticism; find fault**

* * *

><p>Riza tapped her foot impatiently. She hated delays. She was <em>supposed<em> to be discharged from the hospital this morning. Unfortunately, the ward was still swamped with soldiers injured in the recent conflict, and the doctors had not yet processed her paperwork. It was now late afternoon.

Fully dressed in her civilian clothes, she leaned against the bed. It had been a long two days since Mustang's discharge. She had hoped to get some reports done while she lay sedentary in bed, but Breda stalwartly refused to bring any office work to the hospital. When she reminded him how he happily retrieved Ishvalan study materials for Mustang, he cryptically assured her that he "would take care of it." She realized now that she had no idea what he meant by that. She had no illusions that a deluge of work awaited her upon her return to work.

Her idleness was made worse with her constant worry over the Colonel. He had been particularly petulant over the arrangements she made for him at home. He was not particularly thrilled when she told him that she had instructed either Breda or Fuery to stay with him at all times until she could devise a better plan for his safety.

But the worst adjustment for him, by far, had been the cane. Such a simple tool – used by the blind all over Amestris – yet the Colonel had accepted it as eagerly as a death sentence. She recalled his face when the physical therapist pressed the long white cane into his hand. His expression was a mixture of horror and disgust draped over abject stubbornness. Riza sighed. She hoped Breda had at least a little success at convincing the colonel to use the thing.

A head popped from behind the door. It was Beth, a wide smile gracing her face. "Got your ticket out of here!" She waved a stack of papers triumphantly as she entered the room.

"At last." Riza sighed with relief as she pushed away from the bed.

Beth gave Hawkeye a scrutinizing look, her eyes quickly running over the lieutenant's now-bare neck. The danger of rebleeding had passed, but the wound would leave a terrible scar. "I called that friend of yours – Rebecca? She should be waiting outside to give you a ride home."

The woman worked miracles. Riza gave the Beth a brief hug. "Thank you so much. For everything."

"Of course. Take care of that Colonel, now." Beth's wink was cheeky and far too coy.

* * *

><p>Riza spotted Rebecca's vehicle immediately upon exiting the hospital; it was one of the loaner cars from Headquarters. She slid into the passenger seat, flashing her the rare, toothy smile she reserved only for her best friend. "Thanks for picking me up."<p>

"Of course. How are you feeling?"

"I'll be better once I've had a hot shower and a proper meal." She was sick of the colorless mush the hospital loosely defined as 'food.'

"That's not what I meant, Ri."

"We already have our new assignment. We're headed back East…"

"Still not what I meant," Rebecca harrumphed.

Riza sighed resignedly. Rebecca had a knack for pulling emotions out of her that she would rather leave buried. "Shaken," she admitted. "I thought I was going to die down there – expecting it, in fact."

Rebecca was silent for a long moment. "You must have been terrified, Ri. I can't imagine."

Riza nodded, her eyes glued to the hands folded on her lap.

"Why don't you take some time off? You're way overdue for some leave. I'm sure the Colonel would under-"

Riza was already shaking her head. "I can't. Not right now. He's blind, Rebecca, and he's been assigned to oversee military operations in Ishval." Her voice lowered to a near-whisper. "He needs me."

"He needs you, or you need him?" Rebecca teased.

"What? No, it's not that…"

Rebecca fixed Riza with a knowing look. "I'm sure there are plenty of young officers that could easily serve as his bodyguard. Female ones, even."

"What I _meant_ was that he needs someone he can trust."

"Ah. That. Of course." Rebecca replied sagely.

Riza pointedly stared out the window, silently stewing.

Rebecca tactfully decided to change topics. "I took care of Black Hayate for you while you were in the hospital. That Fuery guy is a complete idiot when it comes to dogs."

"Thank you." Riza's voice was still tense.

"Look, Ri, I'm sorry if I upset you. You know how I am with men. I just don't understand your relationship with the Colonel."

Riza smiled at her friend wanly. "It's okay. Sometimes I don't understand it either."

* * *

><p><em>It's late<em>, Riza thought. _I should be getting to bed._ After Rebecca had dropped her off, Riza had busied herself tidying her apartment and making arrangements for the following day. Now showered and full of a delicious dinner, Riza realized how exhausted she truly felt. _I still have a long way to go before I'm fully recovered. I lost a lot of blood that night._

Reaching her bed, Riza sprawled on the covers. Black Hayate bounded up alongside her. The little dog had been beside himself with joy when his master returned home. Now he followed her from room to room like a shadow, afraid she might disappear again.

"You know you're not supposed to be up here," Riza chastised him lightly. Regardless, she did not have the energy to discipline the little dog tonight. Instead, she absentmindedly ran her fingers over the silken fur that lined his ears.

Though warm, comfortable, and bone-tired, Riza had no urge to sleep. An annoying twinge dwelled in the back of her mind. She couldn't relax. _That damn Colonel_, she thought. _How does he manage to worry me even when I know Breda is with him tonight?_ She had resisted the urge to call him all evening. It felt strange that she had not seen him for days now. Even while working as the former Fuhrer's 'personal assistant,' she always managed to catch a glimpse of him or share a brief word. Now, she felt a blanket of unease settle over her.

She looked over at Black Hayate where he lay on the coverlet, head on paws. The canine whimpered faintly.

"Worried about him, too, huh?"

The dog looked at her quizzically, cocking his head.

Riza groaned as she rose from the bed. She needed to stretch her legs and clear her mind. "How about a walk, Hayate?"

* * *

><p>The keys jangled in Beth's hand as she unlocked her apartment door. She looked forward to relaxing after the long and chaotic week. She enjoyed being the primary nurse for the Colonel and his staff very much, but the task was exhausting. Mustang was a private man; he had pointedly asked that she – and she alone – care for him and the Lieutenant as much as possible during their admission. Willing to do nearly anything for the suave man, Beth had wheedled some extra shifts from her coworkers.<p>

Beth sighed wearily, shambling through the living room and into the kitchen. She had just begun scoring the cupboards to scrounge up a paltry dinner when she heard a knock at the font door.

"Who on earth…?" Beth glanced at the clock. It was just after ten at night. A strange time for a visitor.

_It's probably Neil_, she thought as she made her way to the door. They had been dating off and on for the past few months. Her conspicuous absence over the past week most likely worried him. Beth reprimanded herself for not letting him know about the extra shifts.

Beth opened the door, immediately launching into a string of apologies. "Niel, I'm sorry I didn't call you. I… oh." She blinked at the figure standing in the entryway. It was decidedly not Neil-shaped. It was far too short and far too thin. Dressed in a nondescript brown robe, a deep hood covered its head. The details of its face were lost in shadow. "Uh, hello. Can I help you?"

The figure remained silent, unmoving.

Beth sighed. "Look, it's late…" She did not have patience for this. All she wanted to do was curl up on the couch with a sad bowl of cereal.

The figure shifted slightly. "Are you Beth Jacobs?" The voice was hoarse, yet contained traces of youth.

_It's a girl_, Beth realized. "Ye- yes… Who are you?"

There was no reply. Exasperated, Beth placed a hand on her hip. "Are you trying to sell something? Because I'm not interested."

The resounding silence unnerved her. Perturbed, Beth decided to end the conversation herself. She moved to close the door.

The figure struck quickly and silently. Beth barely saw the flurry of whirling cloth as the figure darted forward to plant a solid kick on the door. Before she could react, Beth felt a glancing blow as the lock still knocked roughly against her temple. She stumbled backwards, her feet tangled, and she fell to the floor. Panic erupted in her chest when she heard the front door close, then lock. She drew a ragged breath to emit a scream that never passed her lips.

In the span of a heartbeat, the stranger was on top of her. Beth's hands scrabbled wildly, catching the girl's hood. The thin material flipped back, revealing the visage beneath. Beth shrieked in horror at the waxen skin and lidless eyes. Growling, the stranger quickly grasped Beth's wrists in a vice-like grip, then pinned them under her knees. Beth gagged as the girl roughly thrust a fetid cloth into her mouth.

"Now," the stranger hissed. "Hold still." One hand seized the hair at the top of Beth's head, then rammed her skull against the floor. Beth felt a trickle of blood run down the back of her neck. Not waiting for her to recover, the stranger jabbed her finger into the wound.

Beth struggled as she felt the stranger's finger trail across her forehead. It was warm and wet with blood. _What is she doing?_ Beth's frantic mind raced. She struggled to focus. _Did she just draw… a circle? It can't be… transmutation?_

Terrified, Beth shrieked around the gag. Her legs kicked fruitlessly against the floor. Her nails scraped weakly at the knees that pinned her wrists to the ground. She fought to turn her head and disrupt the abhorrent array. The stranger held her firm and steady, diligently finishing her gruesome task.

A flash of blue electricity filled the room. Beth choked as pain lanced through her head. Pressure built behind her eyes and her vision quickly faded to a grey haze. It felt like something – someone – was burrowing though her brain. And suddenly she was falling, falling though utter darkness.

* * *

><p>"Shit," Mustang cursed as his knee knocked into his couch. Again. One piece of furniture in his entire living room, and he managed to hit it every time. He ran his hand along the battered leather surface, following it until he found the seat.<p>

It was deafeningly quiet in his empty flat. He used to revel in the silence; it was a minor reprieve from the gun explosions and crackling flames that epitomized his life. Yet now the stillness was unsettling. On a typical night he would stretch out on the couch, whiskey in one hand, alchemy book in the other. Now he sat, hands idle, unable to read or drink or even sleep.

His mind drifted idly. Havoc was not due to return to Central for several days at least. Unfortunately, the Eastern railway bridge was still disabled from the explosion that destroyed the former Fuhrer's train. In the meantime, Mustang had plenty of things to occupy his time. Today was spent in endless meetings as his peers maneuvered to occupy posts left vacant in the wake of the sudden coup.

A soft rap at the door interrupted his meandering thoughts. Mustang couldn't help the smirk that blossomed on his lips. It was well past eleven. Only one person would dare visit him this at this hour. Only one woman knew him well enough to be confident he was awake._ Riza_, his thoughts caressed fondly over her name.

It would be nice to have a bit of distraction from the abominable silence. _Now I just have to find my way to the front door_, he internally groused. It was amazing how labyrinthine his flat seemed once he lost his sight. It did not help that he was possibly the only alchemist in Amestris that didn't own bookshelves. His living room was a veritable minefield of haphazardly stacked tomes. Steeling himself for yet another perilous venture across the room, he rose from the couch and began shuffling towards the foyer. His hands swept slowly at hip level. As he made his slow way, he heard another knock at the door – this time louder and more impatient.

"Com– shit ," he mumbled as his foot caught a pile of books. He stumbled and nearly fell. This was not going well.

After what seemed like an eternity of blind groping, his bare foot finally met tile. He was close. A bit more fumbling and he located the door. The snicking sound of the deadbolt was quite possibly the most satisfying noise he heard all night. He swung the door open impudently, a cheeky grin carefully placed to cover his embarrassment.

"Lieutenant," he drawled. "What brings you here so late at night?"

He was greeted with silence.

Unperturbed, Mustang casually leaned against the doorjamb.

"Speechless? I know you're a woman of few words, but…" This was the point where she usually interjected. She would utter an exasperated sigh, an indignant snort, perhaps even a low growl.

Instead he heard nothing but the distant chirp of crickets echo through the night air.

_This is strange_, he thought. _She's so quiet. What did I do now?_

With a jolt he realized that he was acting completely and utterly rash. What idiot opened his door indiscriminately so late at night? For all he knew he could have left himself wide and vulnerable to a complete stranger. Unbidden, a memory of Riza surfaced. He could practically hear her voice reprimanding him: '_Sir, how could you be so reckless?_'

Mustang suddenly felt the overt nakedness of his gloveless hands. Even with his newfound skills, alchemy had limited use without someone to help guide his aim. He pushed away from the doorjamb, standing at his full height. He hoped it looked intimidating.

"Who's there?" He demanded.

He heard a strange panting noise.

Now greatly disturbed, Mustang moved to close the door.

"Where is your cane… _Sir_?"

"Hawkeye." His relief was palpable. "What is _wrong_ with you? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" He heard the soft click of paws as something shifted on the pavement below. Mustang shook his head when he realized the panting was likely from the Lieutenant's canine shadow, Black Hayate.

"I should ask the same. Sir, how could you be so-"

"Reckless. I know, I know." He stepped back from the doorway. "Just come in."

He felt a brush of air as she walked past him. It carried her scent, warm and familiar. Mustang carefully shut the door behind her, making a point to bolt it securely.

Before he even had time to turn, he felt her hand at his elbow, light but firm. "Where is your cane?" she repeated.

"I hate that thing," Mustang said petulantly. "I don't need it." He had discarded the guide pole almost immediately upon returning home. Despite his words, he allowed her to guide him into the living room. Canes were one thing. She smelled of lavender.

"What is all this?" Hawkeye's voice was a mix of exasperation and horror. Apparently she did not approve of the books that piled on the floor. "I thought Fuery was supposed to help make your apartment more… manageable." Her voice grew more austere when she took in the utter silence that enveloped the apartment. "And Breda was _supposed_ to stay with you tonight…"

"I sent him home hours ago. He was too…"

"Too what? Helpful? Supportive? _Necessary_?"

"…male." Pausing, he decided to test her a bit more. "Why couldn't you find me a hot-"

"Just. Stop. There." Her voice grated.

Mustang chuckled. Sometimes she was just too easy to bait. It was an art he perfected when they were still young, living together under Master Hawkeye's roof. He was not surprised when his foot clipped another stack of books as she led him towards the couch. _That wasn't an accident_, he thought ruefully. Perhaps he should lay off a bit. Riza was not one to allow such things go unpunished.

Her hand slid up to his shoulder. "The couch is just behind you. Sit." She guided him down gently. Reaching up, he covered her hand with his and squeezed it briefly in thanks. They lingered there together for a moment before her fingers slipped away. Soon he heard her pad into the nearby kitchen. Two soft clunks sounded as she set a pair of glasses on the wooden tabletop.

"Would you mind bringing the books I have on the counter? I have something I need you to look up for me." Mustang felt Black Hayate's head rest on his knee. He rubbed the dog's ears absentmindedly.

"Yes sir." Ice clinked on glass, followed by the splash of liquid. She returned, smoothly guiding his hand to a cool tumbler. He felt the couch cushion shift as she sat beside him. "Sir, we need to have another conversation about your security. If you would just…" Her voice trailed as she examined the books she carried. "What _are_ these…?"

Mustang hid his smirk by taking a sip of his drink. Whiskey: his very own liquid courage. Just the thing he needed to steel his resolve against the inevitable onslaught.

Clearly indignant, Hawkeye began to read the titles aloud. "Colonel, what is this? '_Satin is for Seduction_'? '_Guilty Pleasures_'? '_Sinful Affairs_'? Sir, are… are these _romance novels_?"

His laugher filled the empty apartment. "Relax, Hawkeye. They're my research notes."

"Research…" her voice was faint.

"All alchemists cipher their notes. This is how I keep my discoveries safe from prying eyes. In your hands lie the fruits of my misspent youth." He grinned as he took another sip. "My books are all roughly the same size and thickness, so I couldn't tell them apart by touch alone. I believe the information I am looking for is in '_Sinful Affairs_,' chapter five."

Hawkeye remained still for a very long moment. Mustang waited patiently, his face completely relaxed and studiously innocent. Saying anything further would likely make things worse. With an exasperated sigh that could have come from her toes, Riza began to shuffle through the pages, finally arriving at the desired chapter. She paused again. Though he couldn't see it, he imagined her eyes widen as she scanned the contents.

"Mind reading it to me?"

Her only reply was a guttural choking sound.

He felt a small wave of guilt at her obvious embarrassment. "Would it help if I ordered you as your commanding officer?"

"No. It wouldn't."

Mustang halfway expected her to refuse outright. He knew how… descriptive… his notes might appear to the lay reader. Given his reputation as a notorious womanizer, the code was an effective cover to hide his alchemic secrets. His strict, practical lieutenant was likely not accustomed to reading about lusty young men and their romantic exploits. Therefore, he was surprised when Riza began to read aloud in her most clipped, military tone.

"_Darshana slowly approached the Prince, her silky hair swaying in the wayward breeze. Her hips - _"

"Hm. Not it. Skip forward a few paragraphs, if you would."

"...Would you like me to read before or after the part where she _'swooned perilously in the Prince's arms_,' Sir?" Sarcasm dripped from every word.

"Actually that's just the place," Mustang said pleasantly. He was enjoying this far too much.

Wanting to be done with the torturous task, Riza pressed on. "_Darshana swooned perilously in the Prince's arms. She felt his touch as if for the first time. The Prince looked deeply into her eyes; he studied their every detail. His gaze drank the colors that swirled in her heady irises. He drowned in the turbulent eddies. Together, their souls resonated, reverberated, echoed. Soon, he knew the secrets of her form. They were in complete synchrony; their hearts beat as one. As his hands ran over the enclosure of her embrace, she felt a tingle run through her entire being..._"

"Thank you. You can stop there." Mustang rubbed his chin, nodding to himself.

"What does it mean, Sir?"

"Hmm? Oh. It has to do with one of the most basic principles of alchemy." He leaned back, arms crossed. "Understanding, Deconstructing, and Reconstructing – they're the fundamental steps necessary to perform an alchemic reaction. The passage you just read has to do with the first step: Understanding. I spent quite a bit of time researching the topic when I studied under your father. As you know, he was… reluctant to share the secrets of flame alchemy. I was certain that I could discover them on my own if I could just attain perfect Understanding of the nature of fire." He smiled at her ruefully. "Clearly I failed in this endeavor."

"Then why revisit it now?"

Mustang's head bowed thoughtfully. "I've been mulling it over for several days now. I think I could use the Understanding portion of alchemy to 'see,' in a manner of speaking. I got the idea from Scar. Somehow he was able to halt the steps of alchemy at the Deconstruction phase. Now that I've seen the Portal of Truth, I might be able to do something similar." He drained the last of his whiskey. "Thank you for reading the passage. I didn't want to start experimenting without reviewing my notes first."

"Sir," she spoke slowly and carefully. "Havoc will be here soon. We can use the Philosopher's stone to heal your eyes. Now doesn't seem like the best time to be… experimenting."

"Hn." His reply was purposefully noncommittal. It was in his nature to be curious. To solve problems and discover secrets. It was the reason why he became an alchemist in the first place. _And_, he admitted to himself, _Fullmetal's speech the other day made me rethink things. _Perhaps there was a way around his blindness. Perhaps he could use the Philosopher's stone to directly help Ishval rather than selfishly use it for himself. "I'll keep that in mind, Lieutenant."

"Please do." The cushion shifted again as she rose. "It's late. I'm glad to see you're doing well, Sir, but I wish you would let Breda stay with you. Are you sure you won't need help…?"

Mustang waved his hand flippantly. "I'll be fine. The worst is over. We're safe, Lieutenant – for the first time in a long time."

"Complacency makes me uncomfortable, Sir."

"Good thing I'm not complacent."

Hawkeye emitted a breath from her nose. It sounded suspiciously derisive. "Well... good night, Sir."

"Wait." He reached out and miraculously snatched her hand on the first try. It was strange, this urge to touch her. He blamed the blindness. It was hard to connect to others without reading the play of their eyes and the movements of their face. It was comforting to have something concrete to cling to in the darkness. Riza's hands had always amazed him: an oxymoronic mixture of masculine calluses and feminine softness. "Thank you, Lieutenant. For checking in on me."

She squeezed his fingers lightly before pulling free. "Of course, Sir."

As Hawkeye slipped into the warm night with Black Hayate at her side, Mustang marveled at how her presence seemed to linger in his apartment, filling the otherwise empty space.

* * *

><p>Ashika regarded the young nurse, carefully considering her next steps. <em>The transmutation worked<em>, she thought triumphantly. _Just as I planned. _She took a moment to revel in her success.

Beth Jacobs sat upright in a recliner across from her attacker, hands draped limply over the armrests. The young nurse's eyes were vacant and docile. A small, thoughtless smile played across her lips. She swayed imperceptibly, her seemingly peaceful countenance only marred by the blood-writ transmutation circle that graced her forehead.

Ashika knelt in front of the young nurse, catching the woman's gaze. Beth's eyes fixed weakly on the young girl's; they were open and trusting.

"Now," Ashika's voice was sharp and commanding. "Tell me what you know about Colonel Mustang."

The nurse's passive eyes blinked slowly. "What… I know?"

Ashika sighed. She would have to be more direct. The transmutation likely left the nurse's brain addled and disorganized. "Where is Colonel Mustang assigned? Is he staying in Central?"

"No." The nurse's voice seemed faint, far off. "He's going east. To Ishval." She gave Ashika a watery smile. "He's going to help them."

_Help the Ishvalans? Him? _ Ashika sneered. "When?"

"He's waiting. For Lieutenant Havoc." The nurse frowned slightly. "I wasn't supposed to hear. People talk. When nurses are around. They don't notice us. We're just background." Her eyes drifted. "We hear secrets."

Ashika moved to catch the older woman's eyes again. "Why is he waiting for Havoc?" To the best of Ashika's memory, the fair-haired lieutenant was paralyzed in an unfortunate accident months ago. _How could a cripple be of use to Mustang?_

Beth's brows furrowed, her head shaking gently. Ashika suspected she had just breached a topic the nurse had been instructed to keep secret. The young girl grasped the Beth's head in her hands, forcing the nurse to meet her gaze. "Why is he waiting for Havoc?" she repeated more forcefully.

"St- stone."

Shocked, Ashika released the woman's face. _They have a Philosopher's stone! They intend to heal lieutenant. That means…_ Ashika's stomach dropped uncomfortably. _ They could do the same for the Colonel's eyes._ This was dire news. So many of her plans hinged on his blindness. He was far too formidable an opponent; she needed every advantage possible.

"Have they used the stone? Tell me. Now."

Beth shook her head again. "No. He's _waiting for Lieutenant Havoc_." She emphasized the words as if they could not be any clearer. "I like the Colonel. His smile is nice."

_That's strange. Why would he wait?_ Ashika considered the information, biting her lip. It did not make sense for him to delay. It left him vulnerable; his alchemy was useless without sight to guide it. She would have to think on this more. "Where is the stone? Does Mustang have it?"

"No. A doctor. His face was scarred." Beth's eyes fixed on Ashika. They were suddenly clear, alert, and all-too seeing.

Ashika self-consciously pulled her hood more securely around her own features. The transmutation's effect was waning. She had limited time. "What else did you hear? Was there anything else they wanted to keep secret?"

Beth cocked her head like a child, the faraway look returning to her eyes. "The lieutenant."

"Which one? Lieutenant Hawkeye? Breda?"

"Riza." The nurse began to blink rapidly. "Her back. A tattoo. It was horrible. Ugly."

Ashika was unsure what to make of this new detail. Another thing she would consider later. Right now, she had to leave before the nurse became fully awake. She cast her gaze about the room to ensure that no evidence of the earlier assault remained. She could not afford to raise suspicions so early.

"You will forget this happened. I was never here." Ashika reached to touch the transmutation circle.

There was a flash of blue electricity, followed by a pained wail from the nurse. The woman slumped tonelessly in the chair. Ashika carefully wiped away the circle with a damp cloth, erasing any evidence of malfeasance.

As she slipped silently out of the house, Ashika's mind reeled. This news changed everything. She needed to think. And plan.

* * *

><p>Beth woke the following morning to a terrible headache. As she roused herself from where she lay prone on the recliner, she vaguely wondered how she ended up there and why she felt so terribly afraid.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Another hard chapter. Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! It really helps to bolster my budding confidence. In response to Tubby, I plan to make this story a long one indeed (20ish chapters?). However, I cannot guarantee awesomeness.**

**In that vien, I would appreciate reviews that help improve my writing!**

**The story set-up is nearly complete. Next segment should be chock full of Royai teasing/tension/action. I tingle to think of it. I would love to hear your speculations on what the next chapter's title will mean for our lovely couple!**

**Next Chapter: Click**


	5. Click

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 5: Click ( / klɪk / )**

**1. _noun – _a brief, sharp sound**

**2. _verb_ – to go or fit together with ease**

**3. _noun_ – a mechanical device, such as a pawl, that snaps into position**

**3. _verb – _to become clear to one's consciousness or emotions**

* * *

><p>Roy Mustang hummed contentedly as he knotted his tie and tucked it into his vest. He was due at the newly-inaugurated Fuhrer Grumman's residence for a celebratory dinner tonight. Military garb strictly prohibited – a pleasant surprise. He could definitely do without the heavy wool uniform; the summer air was particularly cloying tonight. Mustang took hold of his jacket and made his fumbling way to the living room.<p>

He heard Hawkeye rise from the couch as he entered. She arrived half an hour earlier so she could escort him to the gathering. She was not pleased when she found him only somewhat ready, hair still damp from the shower. Mustang managed to wheedle his way back into her good favors by reminding her that his time-telling ability was currently hindered. However, he suspected she knew the truth: It took a deplorably long time to get ready for anything these days. Especially when it involved shaving.

"Well? How'd I do?" Mustang spread his arms to settle the coat about his shoulders. "Not bad, right?"

He heard an uncharacteristic chuckle. A rich sound, deeper than one might expect coming from a woman. To hear Riza's laugh was a rare thing indeed; not many men could claim such a privilege. The sound was melodic and strong and beautiful, like the woman that shaped it.

"Your tie, Sir," she admonished him gently. Her dress shoes clicked on the wooden floorboards as she approached. "Here. Take off your jacket." He felt her hands gently grasp the lapels to help him remove the garment.

"What's wrong with it?" He tried not to sound defensive.

"Crooked." Her fingers brushed along his collar, lifting it up and out of the way. As she unfurled the knot, the tie gently tugged at the nape of his neck and tilted his head forward. Prior to his affliction, they rarely stood so close. Before, physical contact was an accident; it demanded a swift apology or murmured excuse. Now, the touch of skin on skin was a matter of course for them. It felt natural. Her warmth radiated through the thin material of his shirt. Her breath puffed on his collarbone. The clean smell that normally enveloped her was now mixed with the scent of perfume. He felt her fingers on his neck as she reset the tie and began to loop it expertly.

_Interesting. _"Where'd you learn how to do this?"

"Boyfriends. Lots of them." She was teasing him. Another rare and beautiful thing.

"Really? Haven't noticed any." His eyebrows lifted speculatively. "Probably scared away by all the guns."

He coughed when Hawkeye cinched the knot a bit tighter than strictly necessary. She smoothed down his collar and tucked the tails beneath his vest.

"Better," she commented. "But still missing something."

Mustang frowned and quickly ran though a mental checklist, at first afraid the he had forgotten something essential and obvious, like pants. Typically, he was a meticulous dresser. His closet was filled with fine three-piece suits he rarely had occasion to wear. His hair, though nearly always mussed, was purposefully and almost artfully so. It was all part of the character he carefully crafted for the benefit of those that watched him a bit too closely.

He was startled when he felt Hawkeye press something into his hand.

It a box with rounded edges – slightly smaller than his palm and about as thick as a book. He felt the soft give of velvet beneath his fingers. He turned the thing over in his hands. It felt maddeningly familiar...

Realization suddenly dawned – a jewelry box. Though he knew the contents could not be what one (perhaps a young, hopeful woman) might assume. What an excellent opportunity for repartee. "Lieutenant, you seem to have gotten this backwards. Shouldn't someone like _me_ be giving this to _you_?"

"Sir?" Her voice was puzzled. It apparently never occurred to her that a velvet-covered box might have certain, specific connotations. There was a long silence, after which he heard a soft gasp. "Oh no… it's not… it's not _that_." That made three rare events tonight: His unflappable lieutenant was flustered, stumbling over her own words. "Ju- Just… open it."

The box made a soft creak as he pried at its top. He ran his fingers over the contents. Two things – metal by their smooth coolness – nestled on a bed of satin. They were identical in size and shape.

"Cufflinks?" His fingers appraised them again. "But they're shaped… there's some kind of pattern to them."

Riza stepped closer, filling his nose with the scent of perfume and lavender. He felt her hand on his as she guided his finger over the unusual form.

His brows furrowed. "Are those… wings?"

She sounded strangely shy. "Yes. They're molded to look like phoenixes."

Mustang laughed. How apt. The phoenix: a sacred firebird destined to die in its own flames, and rise again out of the ashes. It was a symbol of rebirth. A metaphor of his life in so many ways. To alchemists, the bird had a deep and significant meaning. It represented the destruction and creation of new forms of matter along the way to the ultimate transformation – both physical and spiritual.

"They're… perfect. Thank you."

"Sir," she acknowledged. She took the box from him and began to replace his old cufflinks with the new. After a long moment filled only with the rustle of fabric and the soft click of metal on metal she spoke again, softly. "I have been saving them. For after." She didn't need to explain what 'after' meant. Or why she had to wait. They both knew.

"Hawkeye."

"Mmm?"

"What does your dress look like?" It was the second time he had asked tonight.

"Not relevant... Sir." A smile stole through her voice. He wondered at that – hearing a smile. Mustang had never thought such things possible before he had been struck blind. Riza finished her task and helped him back into his jacket. Her hands brushed briefly over his shoulders, unnecessarily fussing over the already-smooth fabric.

The Colonel's tone became serious. "Everything set for tonight?"

"Yes, Sir. Breda is positioned to intercept the package. Falman will be transporting via car. Fuery is monitoring lines of communication to ensure everything goes smoothly. He will contact us later tonight."

Mustang nodded. "Well then." He held out his elbow. "Shall we?"

The weight of her hand was comforting, warm, and steady. "Yes sir."

* * *

><p>Jean Havoc chewed pensively on his cigarette as he steered his wheelchair down the ramp leading from the train station. He was somewhat surprised to find the platform largely empty when he arrived. Apparently his former colleagues could not spare the time to meet him at the station. <em>Some homecoming<em>, he thought morosely.

It was nearing dusk; the waning sun cast an orange glow on the streets and shadows stretched from nearby buildings. Havoc's stomach emitted a loud reminder that he had not eaten in hours. He huffed dolefully. When Havoc received a call from Breda over a week ago, his friend had simply instructed him come to Central immediately. No details, no reasons – just come. Breda reassured Havoc that he would fill him in when he arrived. Now Havoc questioned his blind trust. Growling, his stomach joined his internal litany. _I'm here, Breda_, Havoc thought_. What now?_

With a sigh, Havoc began wheeling himself down the sidewalk toward the nearest taxi depot. Perhaps he could at least get some dinner before he tried to contact his portly friend.

"Welcome back, Jacqueline." A voice came from the alley to his left. Havoc recognized it immediately.

"It's been a while since I've gone by _that_ call sign, Breda."

"Quiet, idiot. No names. Just get over here."

Casting a quick look around for any idle onlookers, Havoc quickly rolled his wheelchair into the alleyway. Breda stood just inside, hidden in the shadows. "What's going on? Why were you waiting for me in here?"

"Mission." Breda replied flippantly.

Havac spat out his spent cigarette and deftly replaced it with a new. "I guessed that much. Mind sharing some details?"

"I will. In the car."

"What c- " Havoc stopped short when he heard the sound of tires squealing behind him.

Breda's eyebrow quirked at the former Lieutenant. "Care for a ride, Jacqueline?"

After months in a wheelchair, Havoc still felt uncomfortable accepting assistance from others. Prior to his spinal injury, he'd been completely self reliant, young and virile. Quite strapping, he liked to think. Perhaps even gallant. He was no Mustang – as his compatriots were wont to remind him – but he did pretty well for himself. Now he needed help with even the most trivial tasks. He hated it.

Therefore, he was particularly mortified when Breda lifted him by the armpits like a child and tossed him into the back seat of the waiting car.

"Breda, what the hell?" Havoc growled as he heard the door slam behind him.

"Welcome back, Sir," Falman greeted him cheerily from behind the steering wheel.

"Falman! What is going on?"

Falman shrugged. "Mission."

"So I've been told," Havoc grumbled. He felt the car tip slightly as Breda climbed into the front passenger seat.

"Sorry about this, Sir." At least Falman had the grace to apologize. Breda simply sniggered as the car set out through the semi-vacant streets.

"My chair - !" Havoc pulled himself to a sitting position to watch his wheelchair fade from sight. "Shit. _What _is going _on_?"

Breda turned to leer at Havoc from the front seat. "Why Jacqueline, we're getting you a pretty new dress."

"A dress." Havoc deadpanned. "Please tell me that is some kind of code."

Eyes glued to the road ahead, Falman lightly punched Breda's shoulder. "Just tell him, Sir."

"Yes. Just tell me, Breda."

Breda frowned, clearly incensed that they ruined his fun. "Colonel Mustang managed to locate a Philosopher's stone for you. We're headed there now."

Havoc merely sat for a moment, mouth agape. The cigarette balanced precariously on his lower lip. "A… stone?"

"Yep. We're gonna fix you up tonight."

"Fix… my legs."

Breda reached back to flick Havoc on the forehead. "Yes, dumbass. Your legs."

A hundred questions streamed through Havoc's mind, some of which he managed to articulate. "Where are we going? What about the Colonel and Hawkeye? And Fuery? Are they meeting us there?"

The two men in the front seat emitted a simultaneous, gusty sigh. "We won't be seeing them tonight," Breda said gruffly. "As usual, Mustang gets to indulge while we do all the dirty work."

Falman shook his head and glanced at Havoc through the rearview mirror. "Grumman's having a private dinner party tonight, Sir. The Chief thought it might be a good cover. You know, keep some of the higher ups and their subordinates occupied while we carry out our mission. Hawkeye is with him." Havoc saw Breda and Falman exchange a meaningful glance. Interesting. He would have to ask about that later. "Fuery is watching the lines."

"Mustang had better make this up to us," Breda groused. "Two words, Havoc: open bar." He leaned back in the car seat, hands behind his head. "As for where we're going, there's a safe house just outside of town. Guy named Marcoh. We're calling him the 'tailor' for this op. He was a doctor in the Ishval war. Alchemist, too. Creeps the hell out of me."

"Why's that?" Havoc's curiosity stemmed natural self-preservation. The idea of a crazed Ishvalan war veteran wielding a Philosopher's stone was not comforting.

"Guy's got scars all over his face. Nobody's had the guts to ask about it yet."

"Oh." Havoc slumped in his seat. _Just what have you gotten me into, Mustang?_

Breda prattled on about the unfairness of life, their new assignment East, and Mustang's lack of recent female exploits in the wake of his blindness. Havoc stared out the window, only half paying attention. His mind struggled to wrap around the idea of simply walking again. Of feeling sensation with his nerveless legs. Of being self-reliant and self-sufficient. And mostly, of returning to his life as a soldier. Havoc had entered the military at fifteen; prior to his 'accident,' his entire identity was invested in guns, uniforms, and orders. When he had resigned from his post several months ago, he felt completely lost. Now he had the opportunity to salvage what once was. He wasn't sure what to feel.

City streets soon gave way to rough rural roads. Silence fell on the passengers as a feeling of anticipation mounted. It was completely dark by the time they arrived at a small cottage located several miles outside Central. Light streamed from a single window, casting a square of light on the soft grass. Havoc could just make out a figure inside. It rose as the car approached.

Breda turned in his seat, beaming. "Welcome to the dress shop, Jacqueline."

* * *

><p>"You are a vision tonight, my dear."<p>

Riza hung up the phone receiver. She had excused herself from dinner a bit early to obtain an update from Fuery. He had excellent news for her.

Her triumphant smile faltered when she turned to find Fuhrer Grumman regarding her inquisitively, his lips plastered in his characteristic all-knowing grin. She snapped to attention, hand poised in a stiff salute. The reflex felt foreign in a dress.

"At ease, Riza." His voice contained a hint of suppressed laughter. "With me, dear, you can always be at ease."

"Fuhrer sir." She lowered her hand but did not relax. It had been years since she felt comfortable in his presence.

"Grandfather," he corrected gently.

That again. Grumman would not let the issue die. Hawkeye merely nodded, eying him guardedly.

"I was hoping you might take a stroll with me. The garden is lovely at this time of night."

"I hadn't…" Her mind scrabbled for a plausible excuse to break away. "The Colonel - "

"Can take care of himself. Please, join me." He offered her an arm.

Hawkeye was not interested in conversing with a grandfather she hardly knew, particularly when his intentions were not always entirely clear to her. Grumman was a career politician - his language rife with allegory and allusion. Though he was indeed related to her, Hawkeye only had dim childhood memories of the man. He and her father had never been friendly, and the tenuous contact was severed completely after Hawkeye's mother died. Riza was stunned when Grumman contacted her soon after she joined the military. At the time, she thought he had a genuine desire to know his only grandchild. Looking back, she wondered if his aim was to acquire yet another pawn to use in his political game.

"How are you feeling? We didn't have much time to talk when I visited you in the hospital."

_You visited the Colonel in the hospital_, she corrected him internally. _To give him an assignment that he would not - and could - not refuse._ "I am feeling much better. Thank you."

"And Colonel Mustang?"

Riza heard another question hidden within the one he asked aloud. What Grumman truly wanted to know was when they planned to use the Philosopher's stone to restore Mustang's sight. Riza chose to feign ignorance. "…He's well."

Grumman waited for a long moment, giving her the chance to continue. She remained studiously quiet and serene as she walked at his side. Soon they entered a small courtyard; flowers perfumed the night air. Riza cast her eyes about the area; it gave an excuse to avoid Grumman's piercing gaze. The Fuhrer smiled ruefully when it became clear that she would not be forthcoming tonight.

"You are very loyal to him, aren't you?"

"Sir?"

"Mustang. You're very loyal to him."

"Of course, Sir. He is my commanding officer."

"And nothing else?" Grumman's tone was playful. Riza stiffened, her steps faltering for a moment.

"I don't understand what you mean, Sir."

"Your bond isn't… more significant?"

One might think she would be used to the insinuations by now. Her relationship with Mustang was a source of much speculation and rumor in all echelons of military society. She endured snickers and comments without complaint for years, but hearing the accusation from the Fuhrer – her grandfather – stung.

"Fuhrer, sir, there are strict fraternization rules. I can assure you that all members of our team are compliant in this respect."

"Of course." Grumman regarded her thoughtfully. "Riza, I must ask you something. As your Fuhrer. But I hope you might also do this thing for your grandfather."

Riza hesitated. _What does he want from me?_ She chose to remain silent, noncommittal.

"I want you to keep an eye on Mustang for me."

She stopped. "I don't understand what you mean, Sir."

"Nothing far outside your normal duties. I simply wish to be informed of any… delicate information."

_He wants me to spy on the Colonel?_ Riza struggled to keep her face composed. "I still do not understand, Sir." Her voice trembled slightly with anger. "Did Colonel Mustang do something to earn your mistrust?"

"No – nothing like that!" Grumman's laugh did not reach his eyes. "Riza," he sighed. "Mustang is a fine and charismatic leader. He's ambitious. Both are excellent characteristics to have in a military officer. But Riza," Grumman eyed her poignantly. "He is young in many, many ways. Things in Ishval will be extremely delicate. Too many of their people suffered at our hands. It will be a diplomatic and logistic nightmare." Grumman grasped Riza's limp hands tightly. "The Colonel… he is certainly intelligent, and he is _learning_ subtlety. But he can sometimes be impetuous. He is quick to anger."

She said nothing. Acknowledged nothing. She simply stood, staring blankly at her Fuhrer.

He sighed. "Please, Riza. Just… watch him. I'm counting on you to keep him in check."

Her jaw clenched. She could not believe this was happening. "Will that be all, _Sir_?" Ice laced through her voice.

Grumman's mouth opened; he appeared for a moment on the verge of saying more. His eyes carefully regarded her frigid glare and clenched fists. Sighing, he waved his hand dismissively. "That is all, Lieutenant. You may go."

* * *

><p>Mustang nursed a whiskey, lost in thought. The tables had been pushed aside to allow room for mingling and dancing after dinner. Grumman had spared no expense; a small string ensemble played quietly from one corner of the room. Though Mustang typically excelled at witty banter and idle conversation, his blindness made him feel strangely clumsy and isolated. He soon tired of small talk, instead sequestering himself in one corner of the room.<p>

Transmutation occupied his mind. Mustang spent the better part of yesterday experimenting with his newfound skills. Somehow he knew how to manipulate matter without a transmutation circle acting as a focus. Now, the flux and flow of the process felt completely foreign to him, yet simultaneously as easy as breathing. Despite the profound expansion in his abilities, he had not yet made a breakthrough in substituting his lost sight. The answer was there, teasing him, but his mind could not yet wrap around the Understanding he needed to create alchemic vision.

"Roy Mustang," a woman's voice sounded to his left, interrupting his thoughts.

He recognized it immediately. "Gracia," he greeted.

"Hi, Roy." He felt a warm hand rest on his. "How have you been?"

"Oh, you know," he replied flippantly. "Getting by."

Gracia laughed. "If there is one thing I know about you, Roy Mustang, you don't just get by. No lady friends this evening?"

"I haven't seen any recently." The joke sounded hollow to his ears.

"I see you haven't changed. Maes would have liked that one."

"Hm. How's the little squirt?"

"Beautiful as always. She misses her Uncle Roy."

Guilt dropped in his stomach. "Sorry I haven't visited lately."

"I understand. You've been busy. I may not have the inside scoop on military affairs anymore, but rumor has it one Roy Mustang saved the day yet again."

He shifted uncomfortably. "It was a bit more complicated than that."

"It always is. Regardless, Maes would be proud." Her hand squeezed his. "I can see why he had so much faith in you."

Roy wordlessly bowed his head. Gracia allowed him a long moment of silence to gather his thoughts. And if a few drops happened to fall into his whiskey glass, she didn't seem to notice.

After a time, Gracia ventured forward. "Riza is beautiful tonight," she said offhandedly.

"Is that so? News to me." He frowned, mildly frustrated. "She refuses to tell me anything. Something about it being 'irrelevant.'"

Gracia chuckled. "That sounds like her alright." Gracia leaned close, her voice conspiratorial. "Shall I indulge you?"

Roy Mustang would never say no to information that might serve as ammunition on a later date. "Please do."

"Well, first off, she's wearing a dress."

"I am aghast."

"As are we all. It's dark blue. And short."

"How short?"

"Hm." Gracia's voice dried. "Knowing you, probably not short enough."

He grinned. "Probably."

"The dress has a tall collar. It almost reaches her chin, but it's open in the front. No sleeves. It looks like it's made out of something fluttery…"

"Silk." Roy had felt that much for himself. He stole a touch of the soft material as Riza led him to the dinner table earlier tonight.

"Mm-hm. Her hair is loose."

"How impractical."

"Yes." She chuckled. "Terrible idea for a sniper. Could obstruct her visual field."

Roy could not help himself from pressing for a few more details. "Any… I mean to say… Have there been any…"

"No, Roy. No male… accessories. Though with how lovely she looks tonight, I can't guarantee how long that might last. She won't wait forever, you know."

He shrugged, aiming for nonchalance.

Gracia laughed, squeezing his hand again. "Ah! Our subject approaches."

Mustang could smell Riza's perfume before she even spoke. "Hello Gracia. It's good to see you."

"Riza, you look beautiful."

"Thank you – as do you."

The two women began engaging in the customary banter that seemed requisite of all women at formal parties. Mustang's attention drifted away, pondering over transmutation and his struggle over the intangibility of Understanding. He was broken out of his reverie when he heard his name mentioned.

"I'm actually glad you came over, Riza. It's getting a little too late for me. Elysia's babysitter is expecting me home soon – I was just about to head out. Could you take over watching the Colonel for me?"

"Excuse me?" Roy interrupted. "'The Colonel' doesn't need to be watched."

Gracia laughed as she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "Good night, Roy. Riza. Stop by some time, you two."

"We will," he promised. "'Night."

As Gracia's footsteps faded away, he felt Riza's warmth settle into the chair next to him. "I thought you might like to stretch out your legs, Sir."

Mustang frowned. There was something off about her voice. A quake in its melody that gave it an uncertain air. _Did something happen with the mission?_ "Is anything the matter, Hawkeye?"

He felt her shift uncertainly. "It's… nothing, Sir." Her hand trembled slightly as she placed it on his arm. "Let's go for a walk."

"Sounds nice. Lead away." It amazed him how comfortable he'd become with her guiding him by the elbow. She fit into the crook of his arm like a pearl.

"I actually have an update," she murmured. "Jacqueline came into town tonight."

"Mm." Mustang instantly recognized the secret code his team shared. "Has she stopped by the dress shop yet?"

"She got a red one."

_Red_, he thought. _The Philosopher's stone._ "Did she get the tailor to work on it?"

"Yes. It's all finished. Fits perfectly."

Mustang sighed with relief. _So the operation was a success._ Marcoh repaired Havoc's severed spinal cord and restored the dead nerves. "When will I get to see this new dress of… hers?"

"She's available for a date tomorrow. As is the tailor."

"Can't wait." Mustang said earnestly.

* * *

><p>The window lock clicked open. It had been some time since she had manually disarmed a deadbolt in this way. She could not afford to leave evidence of transmutation tonight. Not much, at least.<p>

Ashika slowly eased the window open and slipped inside, soundless as a shadow. She stepped silently into a small bedroom. The moonlight filtered through the window, faintly outlining a tiny bed and several bookshelves. Brighter orange light filtered under a door at the opposite end of the room; she could hear faint voices from the other side.

She had been watching him for days. It had taken some time before she saw a glimpse of what she sought. He was extraordinarily cautious with the thing. But he had made a mistake when he had taken the thing out one rainy afternoon. He had sat alone in the kitchen, idly turning the thing in his hands. He assumed he was alone out here amongst the farms. He was wrong. Ashika's eyes flashed victoriously when she saw where he hid it. He was a stupid, careless man.

Padding across the threadbare rug, Ashika carefully rounded the bed. She stooped low, examining the floorboards with deft fingers. It did not take long to find the small crevice where her nails could find a purchase. The loose plank swung aside with ease. A small box lay innocently in the space below.

Now came the difficult part. Idiot as he was, he was an alchemist. Secrets – and keeping them – were part of the trade. She suspected he had laid down a clever bit of transmutation to keep the thing safe. She bit her lip pensively. She had only seen him put it in its hiding place twice now. Once on that rainy day and once again tonight. Both times, she had seen a characteristic flash of blue light.

_Tonight_, she mused,_ could yet spell ruin for me. Things are moving more quickly than I anticipated._ She was shocked when she saw a car pull up to the cottage just after dusk. Doubly so when she saw two familiar men pile out. She recognized them instantly: _Mustang's dogs. _She knew their intentions the instant she saw them carry the cripple into the house. They planned to use the stone - tonight. The sudden, brilliant flash of red light that streamed through the window an hour later was proof enough for that.

The event had forced her hand. She had to act now. The nurse had told her that Mustang was waiting for Havoc. It had been torture to watch the events unfold as she sat idle in the darkening woods. She could not afford to delay. She waited and watched for the doctor to put the stone back in its hiding place. Then she moved.

And now she crouched, scrutinizing the space beneath the floorboards. She tasted the air for the tiniest fluctuations of energy that would betray a transmutation-based trap. For a long moment she felt nothing... then: _There it is!_ A small wave, like a rivulet of heat, seeped from the lid of the box. Ashika's eyebrows furrowed as she stretched out her senses further. The alchemy was intricate; a human's touch would be enough to trigger an explosion large enough to destroy an arm to the elbow.

Gritting her teeth, Ashika carefully placed a set of kunai around the box under the floorboards. Her heart skipped when she heard the harsh scuff of a chair in the adjoining room. She froze, straining her ears for the sound of approaching footsteps. After several breaths worth of silence, she continued her work. In the end, undoing the complicated transmutation was simple. A flash blue light filled the room, and the box lid flipped open silently.

Ashika's hands dove into the box and reverently lifted the item of her desires. _The Philosopher's stone._ Awe filled her as she sensed the fathomless energy roiling from the surface. Her ambitions realized in a single, tangible object.

She reached into her robe and drew out a handful of red rocks. Holding the Philosopher's stone aloft in the pale moonlight, she began to systematically compare it with the pieces she brought. Soon she found an acceptable color match. With a bit of alchemy, the shapeless red pebble soon appeared identical to the true Philosopher's stone in every way. The perfect counterfeit.

Ashika carefully placed the false stone into the box and reset the alchemic trap. Pocketing the Philosopher's stone, she silently replaced the floorboard and padded back to the window. With luck, they would not realize the switch had occurred until morning.

In the end it had been all too easy.

Ashika relocked the window carefully. It fell into place with a satisfying click.

* * *

><p>The summer air had cooled significantly by the time Riza led Mustang up the walk to his flat. She took the keys from him to unlock the door and ushered him inside with a steady hand on his hip, murmuring a warning to lift his feet over the stoop. Mustang moved through the living room confidently; he was getting better at navigating the space on his own. Riza followed like a shadow, carefully watching his steps.<p>

"Will you stay for a little while? I have something I want to show you." His playful tone betrayed a hidden agenda.

Riza sighed. It was late, and her feet hurt horribly from her impractical shoes. And the night still promised work. "Sir, I should go. I need to get a final report from Fuery."

Mustang threw a sightless glance over his shoulder. His blank eyes arrested her completely. He gestured in the general direction of the nearby sofa. "Lieutenant. Sit." He disappeared into his bedroom.

Riza perched uncomfortably on the edge of the couch. She was anxious to learn the final details of the mission. Though she might not admit as much to her team, she had missed Havoc's presence. Moreover, she was not interested in playing one of the Colonel's self-indulgent games, particularly after the research note debacle a few nights before. Even now, she recalled the episode with mixed feelings: Embarrassment for the ferocity of her blush, and guilt for being grateful that he could not see it. Now he presented her with a new unknown that threatened to further shred her already tattered sense of propriety.

But mostly, she needed some time alone to process Fuhrer Grumman's request.

Mustang reemerged a moment later, a metal box balanced on his hands. Riza rose reluctantly to help guide him back to the sofa. "Here," he said, holding it out. The container was about the size of a shoebox, sealed with two simple clasps. On cursory glance it appeared benign enough.

Riza hesitated. "What is it?"

Mustang lifted the box a bit closer to her. "It's a gift," he replied dryly. "For you." He smirked gently, quirking his head. "I've been saving it. For after."

Her own words used against her. How cruel. "Sir, I can't."

"You can't," he echoed flatly. "What does that mean? Why not?"

Riza stiffened. "I cannot accept a gift from a commanding officer."

"Well then." He paused for a moment, considering. "I suppose I should take back all those birthday gifts I've given you."

"That's… those are… different."

"Enlighten me."

Riza pinched the bridge of her nose. "Sir, there are rules for a reason. We should not make exceptions."

"Is that so?" Mustang pointedly fingered one of his new cufflinks. Riza cringed reflexively. "So _you're_ allowed to give _me_ gifts?"

Riza remained silent. She knew any foray into debate at this point would end in disaster. The Colonel took far too much delight in winning arguments, and was not afraid to use whatever means necessary to ensure his own success. In short, he fought dirty.

"Would you at least open it?" he coaxed.

"I… shouldn't," she sighed, suddenly exhausted. How did he manage to irk her so? "Sir, I really need to go…"

Mustang's lips pursed severely, and Riza's stomach lurched with guilt. She had offended him. "No. Just sit there, Lieutenant." His voice came out brittle. "If you won't open it yourself, then I'll open it for you." He heaved a sigh and flipped the clasps with a bit too much force. The top swung soundlessly on well-oiled hinges, and he turned the opened box to face her. Inside nestled a handgun.

Riza released an involuntary gasp. A 0.45 caliber pistol rested in a bed of fitted foam. Even from a distance, she could see the weapon was special. The feeding ramp had been polished; it shone like a mirror. Bullets would never jam with a finish like that. It had a ring hammer instead of the traditional cocking mechanism, which would reduce snagging in combat. Even the thumb safety had been altered: it was extended slightly, a blessing for someone with small hands. Nearly every part of the gun had been expertly customized to fit _her_.*

She reached out to touch the weapon. She could not help it. It was beautiful.

Mustang smiled a secret smile. He knew he'd caught her. "Go ahead. Take it."

Riza glanced up at him, suddenly shy. How easily he tricked her. It was unfair. She reverently lifted the gun out of the box, hefting it experimentally in one hand. The cool metal felt like silk beneath her fingers.

Mustang set the empty container aside. "Here." He sounded excited, childlike. He grasped her biceps and drew her up to stand. "Try it out. See how it feels." He turned her so she could experimentally aim the weapon to his left.

She hesitantly lifted the gun into a two-handed firing position. The grip was perfect, fitting into her palm like a pearl. She pulled back the hammer, and it slid into place with a satisfying click. She squeezed the trigger; light under her finger. The hammer struck the anvil without a hitch. She cocked the hammer again, marveling at its smooth action. It was her perfect gun.

Riza drew the weapon closer to study it. How could he know the exact weight she needed to fire most accurately? When had he learned that her small hands made most guns uncomfortable at best (and unusable at worst)? How had she not discovered him taking note of the trivial details of her life?

"This… Sir, this is too… it must have cost a fortune."

"Yep."

She turned to him. Pressed the gun into his hands. "I can't accept this."

"Of course you can. You're my bodyguard. That makes this gift completely self-serving." He placed his hands on top of hers, wrapping her fingers securely around the weapon.

"Sir, it's just - "

"Riza." Her first name. He only called her this when he was at his most emphatic. "Just take it." His words were soft but firm. His hands left hers to grasp her elbows. "A gift freely given. Made for you and you alone." An odd, hungry look passed over his face and his grip tightened imperceptibly. She recognized the expression from their younger days, when he encountered a new alchemic equation he had yet to master.

She felt her hand inadvertently brush against the rough fabric of his vest. It made her suddenly aware of how closely they stood. It felt too close, and at the same time, not close enough. How could that be? How was it possible to feel such opposite things with so much fervor?

Slowly, very slowly, his hands brushed upwards along the bare skin of her arms. His fingers left a tingling sensation, like tiny sparks, in their wake. His palms alighted on her shoulders and he took a small step nearer. Dazed, Riza's hands dropped limply at her sides. She could hear his breath quicken. "Riza," he said again. His tone was strange; she had never heard his voice sound like that before. It was neither suave nor militaristic. It was raw and vulnerable.

His hands brushed up along the curve of her neck to cup her face. She could feel the rough scabs that still marred his palms. Riza's lips parted, but she dared not breathe. She merely stared into his unseeing eyes. Somehow they had lost their blind vacancy. Now they were intent; his focused gaze pierced her.

Riza stood, completely frozen, as he leaned toward her. She closed her eyes, unable to endure his strangely intense gaze any longer. He drew her closer with the hands that cupped her face. His breath puffed across her right cheek. Soon, she felt his lips brush across her cheekbone and down her jaw.

He did not kiss her. Warm breaths forged a path for his lips as they roved across her skin. They trailed along her nose, her chin, her eyes, her forehead. It was as if he were trying to _see_ her through the light and subtle touch of his lips. As he roamed, his right hand dropped slowly to rest on her left shoulder. His lips followed. They trailed down her neck, brushing to the jagged scar that marred her otherwise smooth skin.

It was there that he placed one, slow, perfect kiss.

She could not move. She could not breathe. Time and sound stopped.

He drew away. Her eyes opened slowly.

"Riza?" he whispered. It shook her. Shattered the silence.

She drew a shuddering gasp. She could not.

She could not reconcile this man with the one she vowed to protect. She could not bring herself to respond to his touch. But most of all, she could not handle the tumult of emotion that threatened to drive her off the precipice.

The priceless gun dropped from Riza's numb hand and fell to the floor with a solid thump. She heard a soft click as the hammer hit the spur. She gasped again and stumbled backwards, away from his touch. She couldn't stay here. She had to escape before she was consumed by the weight of it all.

As she fled his flat, she stole a reluctant, yearning glance back at her Colonel.

Roy remained in place, unmoved and unmoving, empty hands hanging in the air where a woman once stood. The gun shone dully at his feet.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Ach! This chapter was a blast to write in a million different ways. Indulgent – even gratuitous – perhaps, but enjoyable nonetheless. And soon we plunge into darker things.**

***I must confess that the gun details are borrowed (stolen) shamelessly (and most likely inaccurately) from Metal Gear Solid.**

**Please, please, please review!**

**Next Chapter: Crack**


	6. Crack

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 6: Crack ( / krâk / )**

**1. _noun_ – a sudden sharp sound**

**2. _noun_ – a resounding blow**

**3. _verb_ – to change sharply in pitch or timbre, as from hoarseness or emotion**

**4. _verb_ – to break or fracture without complete separation of the two parts**

**5. _verb_ – to break down; fail**

**6. _verb_ – to solve or decipher**

**7. _verb_ – to open (esp. a bottle) for drinking**

* * *

><p>Breda could not pin why he felt a sense of foreboding as parked his car in front of Mustang's flat. Perhaps it was the dreary clouds looming on the horizon, or the thought of driving the late-rising Colonel Mustang so early in the morning. Breda was not looking forward to his superior's inevitable grumpiness. But even the promise of a cranky Colonel could not explain the heavy feeling that settled in his stomach.<p>

No, the reason why he felt such trepidation was that he was acting as chauffer in the first place.

The plan had always been that _Hawkeye_ would drive Mustang to the safe house. But this morning, the first lieutenant asked Breda to perform the task in her stead. He knew better than to press her for details. There was usually a good – and more than likely surreptitious – reason for Hawkeye to suddenly change their plans.

But Breda heard something peculiar in Hawkeye's tone when she called him early this morning. The difference was subtle – as were most things when it came to the Lieutenant. Breda only noticed it because he spent so much time with her over the years. There had been a slight tremble in her voice. An air of uncertainty.

Breda set the break and stepped out the car, shoving a toothpick between his teeth. The early morning breeze had a heavy, wet scent; it threatened rain. Hopefully the impending downpour would conceal their activities today.

It took some time for Mustang to respond to Breda's knock. Muffled curses and scrabbling fingers preceded the sound of the bolt sliding out of place. The Colonel opened the door slowly, revealing the dim interior of his apartment. Breda studied his superior closely. Mustang looked uncharacteristically disheveled; his clothes were rumpled and his tie hung loose from his neck. Faint stubble shadowed his jaw. Most prominently, his eyes were drawn and his complexion pallid. It appeared as though he had not slept last night.

Most perplexing of all, Mustang held his white guide cane in one pale hand.

_That's odd. He's never carried that thing willingly before. _The connection between the Colonel's appearance and Hawkeye's call this morning could not be more clear. Breda had a sinking feeling that something happened between the Mustang and his Lieutenant last night. Something unpleasant enough that Hawkeye could not endure driving him this morning. Something so bad that the Colonel was now attempting to curry favor by carrying the most hated symbol of his handicap. Scrutinizing his superior a bit closer, Breda discerned an expression that looked suspiciously like guilt.

Breda saluted briskly. "Good morning Colonel."

Mustang started. Apparently, he expected a female voice to address him this morning. Clearly he had not been informed of the last-minute change. "Breda? Wasn't Lieutenant Hawkeye supposed to…? Did something happen?"

"Not that I know of, Sir. She asked me to pick you up this morning."

"Huh." The throaty noise was simultaneously pensive and conclusive. Mustang's blank eyes took on a faraway look.

"Sir?" Breda prompted. It was unnerving to see his superior so out of sorts.

Mustang shook his head as if to clear it. "Yes. Let's go."

It was rather difficult to get the Colonel into the car. Had Hawkeye been there, she would have effortlessly guided Mustang by the elbow and helped him step up into the vehicle with only a few murmured instructions. Her hand would have rested easily on his hip, steadying him but not supporting him as he entered. Her eyes would have carefully watched his head to ensure it did not strike against the car doorframe.

But Hawkeye was not here this morning, and Mustang had to make due with Breda. The idea of guiding the Colonel by the elbow was out of the question; Breda led with his superior's hand resting awkwardly on his shoulder. It soon became clear that Breda's harsh Western accent was not at all suited for murmuring subtle instructions; it took Mustang several attempts to step into the car. Even after accomplishing the task, Breda's satisfaction was short-lived; Mustang's head made a smart cracking sound as it hit the side of the vehicle. Clearly Breda's eyes were not as sharp as the first lieutenant's.

The ride was abnormally quiet. Mustang sat stewing as he nursed the new bruise slowly forming on his forehead. Breda silently cursed whatever quarrel put him in this situation.

It was the Colonel the broke the silence. "How is Havoc?"

Breda hesitated. He was unsure whether to divulge details of last night's events. There had been some unintended consequences from using the Philosopher's stone. "…Well enough, Sir."

Mustang must have detected the uncertainty in his subordinate's tone. "_Well enough_? Something wrong? His legs work, right?"

"Yes, Sir," Breda hedged. He chewed on his toothpick pensively. "Um… hmm." _How to phrase this?_ "Well, you know that feeling you get when you sit on your foot too long?"

"You mean 'pins and needles?' The sensation when your limb falls asleep? It happens when nerves are compressed or the blood supply is blocked off. It's called paresthesia." Mustang paused from his lecture. "What of it?"

"Yes. That." Breda nodded. "See - Havoc has it."

"That's not surprising, considering he just got brand new nerves. They're probably just sensitive."

"No – you don't understand, Sir. Havoc has the _worst_ case of pins and needles Marcoh has ever seen. From his waist down. _Constantly_. Since yesterday." Breda shuddered, recalling his friend's discomfort. "Marcoh thinks it'll go away, but he's not sure when."

"Wonderful," Mustang replied sarcastically. "And you tell me this right before Marcoh works his magic on me." He leaned an elbow to stare sightlessly out the window. "I can't wait."

"You could either know now, Sir," Breda glanced at the Colonel in the rearview mirror to read his reaction. "Or you could find out later when you hear Havoc moaning and whimpering in pain."

"Moaning?" Mustang straightened in his seat, his tone slightly shrill.

"And whimpering. Yes."

"Great." The Colonel hands tightened on his cane and his knuckles whitened. "Just fantastic."

* * *

><p>Mustang felt the car pull onto the dirt driveway leading to the safe house. It had just begun to rain several minutes ago; he heard the thick drops drumming against the roof. The car shifted below him as Breda parked. Impatient, Mustang did not wait for his subordinate. Breda's allusion to the ill effects of the Philosopher's stone left him anxious to complete the process. He let himself out of the vehicle, guide pole awkwardly in hand. The two soldiers made their way into the cottage, steps squelching in the newly-formed mud.<p>

He heard the groans the instant he walked indoors. Apparently, Havoc's new nerves continued to cause him pain. "Take me to him," Mustang instructed Breda firmly. Their shoes echoed hollowly on the wooden floorboards.

Mustang knew they were in Havoc's room by the volume of the moans that emanated from the opposite side. The space felt close: his heightened senses told him it was already-small room filled with too many people. He heard the soft murmur of voices nearby; he recognized Falman's grumbling bass and Fuery's higher tenor. His ears strained to hear Hawkeye's melodic tone, but if she were in the room, she did not utter a sound.

Footsteps approached. Mustang immediately recognized Marcoh's deep timbre. "Lieutenant Breda." The doctor's tone was hushed. "Perhaps you should take the Colonel back to the main room. He doesn't need to see this - "

"Blind – not deaf." Mustang interjected. "Thank you for your concern, Marcoh, but I wish to see my subordinate." He began to forge forward blindly on his own, the white cane sweeping in wide arcs to detect impending obstructions.

"Over here, Chief." Havoc's voice sounded from a location slightly to his left. His voice was strained with pain.

Mustang's cane made a sharp cracking noise as it struck the wooden bed frame. "Havoc," Mustang returned warmly. "It's been a long time."

"Yeah." Havoc hissed through gritted teeth. "Hey Falman, help me sit up."

Mustang heard muffled groans and the soft rustle of bed sheets nearby. The Colonel waited, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. He felt vulnerable standing in the middle of the room. He wanted to sit, but was unsure if there was a chair in the room. As if he spoke his thoughts aloud, a light weight came to rest on his elbow and the scent of lavender filled his nose. _Riza_, his mind passed over the name disbelievingly. _She's here._ After what transpired last night, he had not expected her to approach him so willingly. He allowed her to lead him to a nearby chair. Mustang opened his mouth to thank her, but her presence ghosted away before he could utter a word.

_She's avoiding me_, he mused. _I shouldn't have been so forward with her last night._ He was so certain that he had read all the signals right: her playful flirtation earlier in the evening, the way they found excuses to touch recently, the exchanging of gifts. But she fled his apartment as if his advances were unexpected – even unwanted. Perhaps he misjudged. If only he could see her face and read her eyes. He never realized how much he relied on subtle visual clues to understand the unspoken meaning behind her words. _Perhaps I am blind in more ways than one. What if she doesn't feel…?_

Mustang vehemently pushed the thought away before it consumed him.

Havoc's pained voice drew him from his reverie. "I just wanted to thank you, Chief. For my legs and all. It's more than…"

Mustang shook his head. "I should be the one thanking you, Havoc. We couldn't have taken Central without your supplies."

Havoc's only response was an agonized groan as another wave of pain passed through his legs.

The Colonel turned toward the direction where he last heard Marcoh's voice. "How long will this last? Isn't there anything you can do for him?"

"Not right now." Marcoh stepped closer to his right. "He'll just have to tolerate the discomfort while his nerves reacclimate to sending and receiving signals. I'm not sure how long it will last, but it shouldn't be more than a week."

"A week?" Havoc grunted. "What about… the Chief?" He gasped as pain surged through his legs. "Is he going to feel like this when you heal _him_?"

Marcoh sighed. "Perhaps, but less likely. The vision parts of the eyes do not have nociceptors like your legs. So, returning his sight might not even be painful. Furthermore, the Colonel was afflicted just over two weeks ago. The repair may be less… uncomfortable for him."

"G-Good." The former lieutenant managed.

Mustang leaned forward in his seat. "Listen Havoc. Don't worry about me. Just concentrate on recuperating – I'll need you in Ishval." He paused, considering what he was asking of a man that sacrificed so much for him already. "That is, if you're willing."

Havoc paused for a long moment. When he finally did speak his voice was somewhat choked. "Yes, Sir." Mustang heard a slight rustling sound; he assumed Havoc gave him a crisp salute. "Thank you, Sir. You don't know what this means to me."

Mustang fought the lump that formed in his own throat. After all the risk he put his men through, they remained true to him. He did not deserve such loyalty.

"Well," Marcoh broke into the ensuing silence. "Seeing as we're all here, shall we get started?"

Mustang nodded. "Yes. Let's."

Hawkeye's crisp voice sounded behind him. It was the first time he heard her speak since he arrived. "Falman. Breda. Please go outside and post guard in the fore and aft of the house. Fuery – you have your lines set up?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then go. Listen in for any unusual transmissions."

The flurried noise of boots sounded as each soldier moved to carry out the first lieutenant's orders. Soon the room was silent but for the occasional muffled moan from Havoc.

"Ready, Colonel?" He heard Marcoh step closer.

"Yes." He wished – not for the first time today – that he could feel Hawkeye's calming hand on his shoulder.

But the lieutenant remained several steps behind him, silent as a stone.

* * *

><p>Ashika watched from the nearby copse as the two lieutenants exited the cottage to take their positions. <em>It's about to start<em>, she thought. _Little do they know they are about to fail._ This would be her first strike among many. She never imagined revenge would taste so sweet. The elation threatened to overwhelm her.

She had not planned to return to the cottage this morning. After stealing the true stone, she spent the remainder of the night preparing for her next strike. Ishval lay at the heart of her plans. The poetic justice would be fitting: She would destroy the Colonel where it all began. Things were slowly falling into place.

But something drew her back to watch the event unfold. _I need to see him. To see the desolate look on his face. To see his failure made flesh._

Ashika settled comfortably in the underbrush to watch the spectacle. Thick drops of rain fell from the sheltering leaves, falling wetly against her tattered hood. She was certain that neither lieutenant would spot her in her shadowy hiding space and through the concealing rain. The Philosopher's stone was safe at the moment. For today, she simply wished to indulge in the fruits of her nighttime labors.

* * *

><p>Marcoh carefully pulled the Philosopher's stone from his pocket. He hated carrying the cursed thing, and was anxious to finish this task so he could finally destroy it. The Colonel sat upright and silent in his chair, his lips in a tight line of determination. His female lieutenant watched him closely, her fists balled anxiously at her sides. Even Havoc looked on curiously from his bed, his pain forgotten in the tension of the moment.<p>

"Are you sure you are ready?"

Mustang nodded, breathing a deep sigh through his nose. "Just get it over with. Please."

Marcoh approached the younger man slowly. "Alright. Please close your eyes, Colonel."

It was an odd thing to transmute using a Philosopher's stone. Even after years using one to heal the people of his small village, Marcoh still found the sensation foreign and novel. One had to transmute _through_ the stone itself; it provided an energy and focus that negated any need for transmutation circles. One only required the necessary knowledge to transmute whatever one desired. To that end, Marcoh spent the previous evening reviewing eye physiology to ensure he made no mistakes.

Marcoh placed his fingers over the Flame Alchemist's eyes. He reached through the Philosopher's stone as he had many times before, expecting the familiar rush of energy.

Nothing happened. Marcoh frowned and tried again – this time with more resolve.

A soft snick emanated from the stone. Marcoh looked down curiously to see a tiny crack form on its faceted surface. He stared dumbly at the gem, unsuccessfully channeling a focused flow of alchemic power through the thing_. That's strange... I don't any feel energy… _

Then suddenly, as if smashed by a hammer, the stone shattered in his hand. The sharp splintering sound resonated through the tiny room.

"Wha-?" Marcoh looked at the fragments as they trickled through his nerveless fingers. Both lieutenants gasped as they saw red slivers flash in the air. The tiny crystals made soft ringing noises as they struck the wooden floor.

The Colonel opened his eyes when the doctor's numb hand fell away. "Marcoh? Did it work?" He blinked, brow furrowed. "I still can't see. What happened? What was that sound?"

Havoc was the first to break through the silence. "It… broke."

"Havoc? What do you _mean_ 'broke?' Somebody tell me what's going on!" Mustang's hands clenched where they rested on his thighs.

Marcoh simply stared at the remaining fragments in his hand. _How could this happen?_ As a maker and destroyer of numerous Philosopher's stones, he was intimately familiar with their workings. He had never seen a stone explode in this way – not without dissolving into dust. And _that_ only happened when a stone's power was completely depleted. _I just used it last night – there is no way…!_

"Marcoh." The Colonel's voice was sharp and commanding. It demanded an answer.

The doctor shook his head. "Something's wrong, Mustang. The stone just… shattered. It shattered right in my hand. I have never seen a stone do this before."

"Is it possible that we used its remaining power last night?" The Colonel reasoned. His voice was unbelievably calm.

Lieutenant Havoc jolted further upright in bed. "Please… Colonel, that can't be true!" He turned to Marcoh accusingly. "You used it up… on _me_?" His head fell to his hands. "No. No, no, no."

Leiutenant Hawkeye strode over to rest a comforting hand on the nape of Havoc's neck, but her eyes never left the Colonel. Despair whirled in their amber depths.

Mustang's pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tell us what happened, Dr. Marcoh. Please."

Marcoh frowned at the shattered remains of the stone. There had been nothing – no energy – when he tried to transmute through the thing. _How could that be possible? What happened to it?_ "I… don't know. There was still power remaining in the stone last night. Enough to repair your eyes – of that much I am certain. I need to study this further." The doctor began to pace. "Something went terribly wrong. Suffice it to say, we will not be restoring your sight today." He stopped. "I'm… sorry, Colonel."

The air seemed to go out of the room. Lieutenant Havoc moaned piteously from his bed as Mustang's head bowed, pondering.

Lieutenant Hawkeye stood frozen for long moment, her eyes lost and unfocused. Suddenly, she emitted a strange choking sound and her hand dropped from Havoc's neck to clench clawlike over her stomach. She strode out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

_What went wrong?_ Marcoh's fist clasped over the shattered vestiges of the last remaining Philosopher's stone.

Breda and Falmen entered the silent house not long after. They, too, were shocked and dismayed as Mustang calmly explained the situation.

Hawkeye did not return.

* * *

><p>The heavy rain had dwindled to a drizzle by the time Riza fled the cottage. The air was laden with the scent of newly-turned earth. Her shoes were soon soaked with dew as she made her way to the far side of the building.<p>

Breda and Falman already disappeared inside. They had only to take one look at Hawkeye's expression to know that something had gone horribly wrong. She had nodded at each of them in turn, giving them permission to check on the Colonel's status and discover what happened for themselves. She was not yet ready to articulate the tragedy that had just befallen their team.

Riza leaned against the rough-hewn wall. Her breaths came in shuddering gasps as angry tears pricked her eyes. _How could this happen?_ Just when they had a chance to return what was taken, it was snatched away.

More than sight was lost on the Promised Day. Something had irreparably disrupted the balance of her relationship with the Colonel. The comfortable, companionable bond they once shared was now replaced with a new and overwhelming closeness. Riza had done what she could to distance herself from him, but despite her best efforts, the Colonel razed her carefully-constructed barriers with startling ease.

Unbidden tears streaked down her cheeks. Her nerves were already frayed from her encounter with the Colonel last night – this new disappointment only served to instigate her distress. Even now she could feel the whisper-quiet touch of his lips, the soft feel of his hands against her jaw. The tender kiss he placed on her new-hewn scar shook her soul. His empty eyes lingered in her thoughts. Last night, they burned with desire. The memory of their gaze barred her from all sleep.

She bitterly regretted her response to his touch - the way she fled without a word. _I hurt him_. Riza recalled how Mustang froze in shock, his confused expression as she slipped away. But she knew at that crucial moment that their relationship would be changed forever if she lingered any longer. The notion frightened her, and she ran like a fragile girl. She left him alone in the darkness.

And now this. Marcoh failed. The promise of the Colonel's sight had sustained her over the long and sleepless night, but now all that hope seemed fruitless. She trusted that the stone would restore balance to their relationship. But that hope was shattered with the inexplicable destruction of the Philosopher's stone. She choked back the sob that threatened to escape.

"You can't hide from me forever, you know."

Riza turned to see her superior rounding the house, white cane sweeping before him. "C-Colonel!"

Mustang's head turned in the direction of her voice; his sightless eyes regarded her thoughtfully. Riza hastily swiped the tears from her face, realizing too late that he could not see them. _How did he find me here?_ The Colonel was unaccompanied, without a guide. _Even blind, he seeks me. Even blind, he finds me._ It was not the first time he displayed an uncanny ability to locate her without sight. She first noticed it in the hospital. Somehow, he always knew where to reach for her, where to turn his head so he could face her.

"What are you doing back here?" he asked gently. The cane swung along the ground as he moved in her direction.

Riza swallowed carefully to clear her throat. "You should go back inside, Sir." Her voice was thicker than she would like. "If someone were to see you out here, it might raise suspicion…"

Mustang chuckled. "Trying to get rid of me? You'll have to do better than that." He stepped closer.

"I- I just need a moment, Sir."

"Oh." He paused for a moment, frowning, then continued towards her.

Riza deftly stepped inside the arc of his sweeping cane and reached forward to press her fingertips against his chest. "Stop."

Mustang halted and dipped his head to sightlessly regard her hand. "Lieutenant…"

"Just s-stop."

He reached up to grasp her hand, then slowly lowered it away from his chest. He did not linger; he quickly released her fingers, allowing her arm to fall at her side. "It will be okay." He soothed. Mustang stepped closer but maintained a comfortable distance – perhaps afraid of frightening her away again. "Maybe this was meant to be."

"Meant to be?" The words clenched in her chest, stealing her breath.

Mustang's head bowed. "I've done some terrible things. Things that should not go unpunished." His blank eyes sought hers. "This is no less than what I deserve."

"I have done terrible things, too." She choked. "Is that why you want me to share in your punishment?"

"No. Of course not." He frowned severely. "That's why we're going back to Ishval. Come with me, Hawkeye. Please."

She turned her face away from him to gather her thoughts. "You already know I will."

"Yes." Regardless, he looked relieved. "We'll do it Hawkeye. Together. I'm sure of it."

"How can you say that?" She shook her head. _How can we succeed now? All our plans… How will he gain the trust of the people?_ Would Amestris put its faith in a blind Fuhrer? His life was already filled with enough danger and looming threats. _How can I protect him when he's so startlingly vulnerable?_

"I say it because it's true." His face relaxed into his most confident expression. "I have the best team supporting me. A team I can trust. The only family I have."

Riza bowed her head, her throat tightening with emotion. A single, silent tear escaped to roll down her jaw. Mustang cocked his head thoughtfully, then reached forward, inexplicably catching her cheek in his palm. His thumb brushed over the wet trail.

"Crying over me again?" He probed softly.

Riza jerked her face away from his hand. "It was… raining, Sir."

Mustang smiled sadly. "So it was." His hand slowly dropped to grip his cane. "All the more reason to come inside. That's an order, Lieutenant."

Riza gathered her pride, drawing herself to her full height. _I am a trained soldier_, she reminded herself harshly. _My commanding officer needs me to be strong._ "Yes, Sir." The words came out clipped and measured. She reached forward to take her familiar position at his elbow.

They had only taken a few steps when he stopped. "Lieutenant."

Her hesitant pause was almost imperceptible. She made sure of that much. "Sir?"

"Don't ever run away from me again."

* * *

><p>Ashika stepped further into the concealing darkness as she watch the two figures reenter the cottage. The exchange she witnessed between the Colonel and Lieutenant was not what she expected: The sight of the ever-stoic Lieutenant as her composure cracked. The way that the Colonel had comforted <em>her<em>, despite the fact that _he_ had been the one to fail today. The tender and intimate touch. Yet the scene below bestowed a new and unforseen weapon.

_This may alter my plans. The bastard's vulnerability runs much deeper than I thought._

She expected to leave the tiny wood filled with heady glee – drunk on her first victory over the Colonel. Instead she slipped through the trees lost in thought. _He seemed so calm. So resigned to his fate._ She detected no hint that Mustang was disappointed in the failed transmutation when he appeared from inside the house. It infuriated her.

Her soul thirsted for his despair. It was yet unsatisfied. But now she knew the key to seize his heart with fear.

_Riza Hawkeye._

* * *

><p>Vanessa giggled as she let go of his elbow. He heard her prance ahead of him, her silken skirts swishing playfully. "Wait there, Roy. I want to surprise the other girls."<p>

Mustang smiled wanly before nodding. In truth, he was not interested in playing games this afternoon, but he never passed an opportunity to indulge his 'foster sisters.' He heard the door open with a creak; the scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol wafted from inside.

"Guess who's heeeeere!" Vanessa crooned. Squeals erupted from within. Roy heard the clicking sound of heels before several sets of hands grasped his lapels and pulled him into the bar.

Though he knew this tavern was a fresh replacement for Chris Mustang's previous chateau, the scent of her pungent perfume already permeated the air. The odor was meant to entice and enchant men, but Roy found it comforting. He had strong memories of reading his first alchemy books in Madam Christmas' bar, surrounded by the din of clinking glass and murmur of adult conversation.

His sisters cooed over him as they helped him remove his coat. Roy felt Minna hug him briefly, her characteristic braids tickling his chin. He smiled in spite of himself as they led him to a barstool. Sometimes it was nice to have women fawn over him; the girls always put him in a good mood.

Madam Christmas' heavy breathing announced her approach. "So, still alive then, Roy-Boy?"

"Not without a little collateral damage." Roy rubbed his eyes self-consciously.

He felt Madam Christmas' beefy fingers wrap around his wrist and pull it back down to the counter top. Even now, she treated him like a child that needed scolding. "So I've heard." Her voice was dry but not uncaring. "Too bad you can't enjoy the sight of my new chateau. Not that there's much to see at this point."

"I'm sure it will be just as gaudy as the last one, Madam."

"Funny. I wouldn't have to redecorate if it weren't for _you_, ingrate."

"It seems to me that you that it was _your_ idea to blow up the bar." He spread his hands. "And now you have this nice new establishment sponsored by yours truly."

"Hmph."

"I know you just got settled, but do you have any…?"

"Whiskey? Haven't cracked it open yet… I was waiting for the right occasion. I guess a toast with my most loyal patron is as good a reason as any." The counter rattled as she set down a heavy bottle. He heard a sharp crack when she broke the wax seal. "I hear you had a recent run-in with a certain red stone," Christmas said offhandedly.

Mustang paused as one of his sisters leaned in to peck him on the cheek. She smelled strongly of peaches. His nose wrinkled; he much preferred a more subtle scent. _Like lavender and mineral oil and gunpowder and…_ "And where did you hear _that_, Madam?"

"You aren't the only one that has connections with Dr. Knox. Where do you think he gets his… spare medical supplies?"

"Hn." _I'll need to have a little talk with Marcoh about the definition of 'secrets.' And how to keep them._

Christmas' gravelly voice lowered to a rumble. "Is there nothing else you can do?"

"Well…" Roy drawled. "There is one thing." He steepled his fingers, tapping them against his mouth thoughtfully. "If you're willing to do me another favor, that is."

"What's this? I should have known you wouldn't come here for a visit out of the goodness of your heart." She slammed two glasses to the countertop. "What do you want _now_? I just blew up my beloved château for you and now you have _another_ request for me? Very bold of you, Roy-Boy."

He cringed, but slid his hand into the pocket of his slacks to pull out a small slip of paper. "Hopefully this request won't be as… costly." He slid it across the table. "It's for my… affliction."

"And which affliction would that be?" Christmas teased gruffly. "Blind conceit?"

"Just the first part, Madam." Roy replied coyly. He pinned the slip beneath a single finger and inched it forward suggestively.

Christmas snorted derisively. Nevertheless, she pulled the slip out from beneath Mustang's digit. A long moment passed as she read it. "I must say, Roy, loosing your sight has not helped your handwriting one bit. Nor your sense of realistic goals. This will not be easy."

Roy fixed his face in what he hoped was an innocent expression.

"Assuming I can fulfill your request, how would this help you?"

Roy shrugged nonchalantly. "I've been trying something on my own using alchemy, but it's just not working. I need more information - something I can't get in Central." In spite of his offhand tone, he struggled to suppress his frustration. After the Philosopher's stone shattered, he spent days attempting to crack the mysteries of attaining alchemic sight. The only accomplishment he could claim after nights of experimentation was that it kept his mind somewhat occupied. Otherwise, he might have spent the time pondering the mystery of a certain blonde officer. Even with the distraction, his thoughts still dwelled on one Riza Hawkeye.

"I'll do my best. I have some favors stocked up in that area. I do a lot for the silk trade there. No promises, though."

"Of course. Just be sure to send them to Ishval."

"Ishval huh?" Roy heard the soft clink of ice on glass, followed by two splashes of liquid. "You're going _back_ to that hellhole?"

"Yes. Somehow, I managed to talk the Fuhrer into letting a blind General lead the restoration efforts there." He grinned cheekily at her. "Must have gotten some good negotiating skills from somewhere… or someone." He gratefully took the whiskey Christmas slipped into his hand and took a hearty swig.

"Why would you _want_ to go back there, Roy?" The joking veneer had vanished from her voice.

Mustang understood her hesitation. Madam Christmas had been the one to lead him out of his crippling depression following the war. She did it the only way she knew how: she slapped, cursed, and screamed it out of him. Roy was grateful to the woman. She was one of a precious few in his life he could implicitly trust. His foster mother did not want to see her only son go through that terrible ordeal again.

"I'll be okay," he reassured. "I'm going there to rebuild. To pick up the pieces and make amends."

Christmas snorted. "How noble of you. And I suppose you're going to drag that poor lieutenant down along with you?"

Mustang cringed. _Why did she have to phrase it like that?_ "She follows me willingly. Hawkeye wants a chance at redemption as much as I do."

"Roy," Christmas let out a throaty sigh. "You may think you know about women, but you know nothing about _that_ woman."

Mustang twirled the glass thoughtfully between his hands. "No kidding."

"Just be careful Roy-Boy." Her thick finger jabbed his chest. "Ishval could break you just as easily now as it did ten years ago."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A quiet but necessary chapter.**

**A word about reviews. Aside from the fact that I really appreciate them, they have helped to change a few things about the way I've structured my story. For example:**

**Tubby's comment on Chapter 3 = Riza/Grumman scene in Chapter 5 **

**Kakashi's comment on Chapter 5 = more clarification of Ashika's race in later chapters (and maybe a back-story chapter to boot! BONUS!)**

**In other words, I really care about and respond to reviews. It helps me know when there are gaping holes in the narrative. Please keep them (both good and bad) coming!**

**Next Chapter: Shift**


	7. Shift

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 7: Shift ( / shĭft / )**

**1. _noun_ - the sound made by small particles brushing together**

**2. _verb_ - to move from one place or position to another**

**3. _verb_ - to provide for one's needs**

**4. _verb_ - to lay aside, abandon, or leave for another**

**5. _verb_ - to move quickly**

**6. _verb_ - to proceed by indirect or evasive methods**

* * *

><p>Breda watched as Riza prepared the morning coffee. He was seated in a private cabin across from Mustang and Hawkeye aboard a train to East City en route to Ishval. The attendant brought the breakfast tray not long ago, but she was quickly shooed away by the ever-vigilant Hawkeye. As usual, the lieutenant-recently-turned-captain insisted on preparing the morning drinks. According to her, she was the only one who knew how to do it properly.*<p>

Normally, train rides were quite pleasant for Mustang's contingent; the team would spend the time bantering or reading in companionable silence. But the recent failure with the Philosopher's stone still loomed close in their minds. The signs of this disquiet were subtle, but plain to Breda's well-trained eye. Hawkeye's lips were drawn in a severe line, her back stiff and unyielding. Mustang shifted in his seat restlessly, idly toying with his guide cane.

It was a shame Havoc was not present to dispel the tension. The blonde soldier always added color to the conversation with his snide comments and easy jokes. Unfortunately, Havoc remained behind in Central to complete his rehabilitation. Though the painful tingling in his legs abated several days ago, he still needed to rebuild his strength and coordination after months in a wheelchair.

Strangely, it was Mustang who remained the most optimistic about the future. His front was convincing – perhaps even infectious. Somehow, the Colonel managed to convince Grumman that he – a blind officer – was the best candidate to lead the restoration efforts in Ishval. Breda and the others were stunned when their superior left the encounter not only with the Fuhrer's blessing, but two promotions: Mustang was made Major General and Hawkeye made Captain. It was hard not to be swept up in his optimism as the team prepared for their journey.

Breda jumped as he heard the clattering sound of dishware. He stole a curious glance at Hawkeye, who had just managed to catch a toppling teacup before it fell from the saucer she held in one shaky hand. Breda's brow quirked.

She had been off for weeks.

Breda observed Hawkeye serve morning coffee many times before. She usually performed the task with flawless ease. It was a trivial daybreak dance between her and Mustang – fascinating to behold. And it was always the same: Hawkeye would sit to Mustang's left, close enough to touch knees. She knew precisely how much coffee to pour, how much milk and sugar to add. He would exchange a brief smile of thanks before taking the cup from her, their fingers brushing briefly before she released her hold. She would pause, observing him from the corner of her eye, waiting for his contented sigh after the first sip before pouring her own drink.

But today the once graceful dance seemed gauche and ungainly. Hawkeye sat as far from the General as possible. Her hands – once steady and sure – now shook, and the cups to skittered precariously over their saucers. When she handed Mustang his drink, she kept her fingers as far from his as possible, avoiding his touch.

Yet some semblance of that ease and grace remained. Breda's eyes followed Mustang as he sightlessly reached for the cup. He needed no prompt, no signal. He simply knew it was there, waiting for his grasping hand. Like he knew Hawkeye's every move.

It was not the first time Breda observed the strange intuition Mustang developed in the wake of his blindness. At times, the General moved as though he saw things he could not. More perplexing was the fact that his apparent clairvoyance only applied to Hawkeye.

Even Havoc had noticed the peculiar affinity. He and Breda discussed the topic before the team left for Ishval. Breda's mind lingered on the conversation.

"_You'd better hurry up and get better." Breda said gruffly. "I don't want to spend all my time in Ishval doing work that should be yours." He was seated across from Havoc in the rehabilitation wing of the hospital. _

_The newly-reinstated lieutenant leaned back in his chair, his hands resting comfortably on his forearm crutches. Havoc had made some great strides – both literally and figuratively – since the pain in his legs waned, but he still had far to go before he was ready for active duty. "Yeah, thanks for your concern." Havoc's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I'll get right on that." _

_Breda could certainly not fault Havoc for his lack of effort. Even the most experienced physical therapists marveled at the blonde soldier's determination and drive to recover. Regardless, Havoc simply needed more time. "Just get better," Breda reiterated, this time his voice markedly less gruff. "The team is… different without you."_

_Havoc cocked his head. "I thought I noticed something off. But I don't think it has anything to do with me."_

_Breda fixed his friend with a pointed stare. "So you can see it too?"_

"_Yeah." The word was summative in all its brevity. "What is _up_ with the two of them?"_

_They were, of course, referring to Hawkeye and the Chief._

"_I dunno," Breda said. "She's been acting really strange around him. Avoiding him and such. It's not like her. She barely says two words to him in the office. No more than she needs to, at least. And she keeps shunting jobs off on to me – stuff she was happy to do a couple of weeks ago."_

"_You don't think they finally…?" Havoc waggled his eyebrows suggestively._

"_Naw." Breda replied. _

_But then he paused. Perhaps Havoc had a point. It might explain a lot. He shuddered as his imagination took flight. The thought of his two superiors doing… _it_… did not seem possible._

"_But it's not just Hawkeye," Havoc pressed. "Mustang's weird, too."_

_Breda nodded – he was right. But the Chief was certainly not avoiding Hawkeye. Quite the opposite, in fact. "You noticed that too, huh? The way he knows where she is?"_

"_How does he keep doing that? He's supposed to be blind, right?" Havoc's brow furrowed. "But he acts like he can see her."_

"_You haven't been in the office. It's worse there. When she comes in the room, his feet always seem to end up pointing in her direction – even if she doesn't make a sound. Even if he has no idea she's there. Like iron to a lodestone."_

"_Creepy."_

"_You have no idea."_

"_Guess I better get well soon, then."_

_Breda let loose a hearty sigh. "Please do."_

And now Breda sat, coffee in hand, as he watched his two superiors: One clumsily maneuvering herself around a man she apparently wanted to avoid; the other effortlessly anticipating and responding to a woman he could not see. In one way, awkward and ungainly; in another, as easy as breathing. The contrast was disturbing.

Breda settled back in his seat. For the first time since he got this new assignment, he wished they would just get to Ishval already.

* * *

><p>Another bump jostled the car as it made its way down the gravel highway. Mustang's body swung with the motion, his shoulder knocking against Hawkeye's for the third time that minute. He could veritably feel the Captain's discomfort with the close quarters in the rear seat; her shoulder felt solid from her strain to lean away from him.<p>

Mustang sighed, gripping his guide cane in frustration. She had been avoiding him all week. Unquestionably, she performed her duties with precision and proficiency as always, but no more than that. Gone were the days when she would linger at his side, her scent filling his nose. Instead she remained at her desk until needed. Breda had taken on more and more of her duties as personal escort. Though she was always nearby, he was beginning to miss the comforting weight and warmth of her hand at his elbow.

"What do you know of the situation in Ishval, Mustang?" Major Miles' voice drifted from the front seat over the rumble of the car engine. The red-eyed soldier met the team at the Eastern train station to join them on the ride to Ishval. A rail system was currently under construction to the area – one of many things Mustang was expected to oversee – but it would be some time before trains reached the remote location.

Mustang thought over the reports Hawkeye read to him last night. "From what I understand, a military barracks was constructed north of the city. I have approximately 200 soldiers at my disposal, with more recruits arriving next week. Currently, the Ishvalan refugees are camped at the eastern edge. Last estimates state over 1000 individuals live there, with more arriving by foot or car daily."

"You clearly read my reports," replied Miles, his voice crisp. "But what do you know about the _situation_, Mustang?"

"Excuse me, _Major_," Hawkeye interrupted. "General Mustang is your senior officer, and you will address him as such."

Mustang laid a calming hand on Hawkeye's arm. She jerked at his touch, but did not draw away. He could understand Miles' reluctance to address him by his title. Not only was the Major a trusted member of Olivier Armstrong's close-knit team, but as an Ishvalan, Miles has particular reason to dislike Mustang. After all, the Flame Alchemist gained his fame and rank by taking the lives of Ishvalan people. He knew he had much work to do to prove his worth to the Briggs soldier.

"It's alright, Captain." Mustang said smoothly. He heard her huff though her nose, still disgruntled. "Please, Major Miles. You've been in Ishval for the past several weeks now. Tell me about the situation thus far."

There was a long pause, and Mustang imagined Miles' red eyes studying him closely. "Things are going well, but conditions are far from ideal. Supplies are limited and it has been difficult to provide for the increasing numbers of refugees that pour in every day. The most pressing matter of late is the dwindling water supply."

Mustang frowned. "I thought there was a large reservoir of water hidden deep below ground – that's how people were able to survive here prior to the war."

"Yes, there was once a large lake supplied by underground springs that stretched under Ishval," Miles shifted in his seat, the leather creaking under his weight. "But the destruction of the city during the war partitioned the supply. Instead of one vast pool of underground water, there are now dozens of pools of unknown size and location. Many of these reservoirs are no longer drinkable, and we're struggling to find those that are."

Mustang grimaced. "What about current supplies? Have we had to start rationing yet?"

"Not yet, but if we don't start supplementing from Eastern Headquarters, we'll run out of water within a month."

"Okay." Mustang felt Hawkeye shift beside him. He could veritably hear inventories forming in her head as she began to plan the necessary logistics. Yet another thing to add to the growing list of tasks they needed to accomplish in Ishval. "What else?"

"Aside from the pressing matters regarding supplies…" Miles paused. He seemed to be considering his next words carefully. "I have intelligence that there is a resistance movement developing in the Ishvalan camp. It's still grassroots, but it may pose a problem if we do not address it soon."

It was not news Mustang was hoping for, but not altogether unexpected. It was not surprising some Ishvalans still harbored distrust of Amestris; a resistance group was just a symptom of an underlying problem. Still, unrest could definitely impede his efforts to gain the confidence of the Ishvalan people. "Has there been any violence?" Mustang asked wearily. Fighting would undermine his authority and delay reconstruction efforts. Even the possibility of fighting would put his soldiers on edge.

"No, not as of yet. But my contact states that there have been weekly meetings – most likely in the ruins. He estimates thirty to fifty people in total. Still small, but even a spark can start a fire – isn't that right, General?"

Mustang ignored the poorly-veiled accusation. "What are their motivations?"

There was a soft rustle of fabric, which Mustang took as a shrug. "As you might imagine, they're not pleased the Amestrian army is occupying what they believe should be a free state. They think a native Ishvalan should lead the reconstruction."

"We are working with their leaders, are we not? Have we spoken to the Ishvalan authorities regarding this resistance movement?"

"The intelligence is still fresh. We have not yet breeched the subject in our meetings."

Hawkeye shifted next to him. When she spoke, Mustang could sense an undertone of angry indignation in her voice. "Who is this 'contact' you keep referring to, Major?" Though she addressed Miles formally, it was clear that she did not use the term out of respect. "This person that seems to know so much about the resistance? When will you put us in contact with him?"

"He asked to remain anonymous." Miles replied, his words measured and even. "I am the only officer that he has agreed to contact."

"This is ridiculous." Hawkeye huffed. "How can we trust this intel when we cannot even affirm your contact's reliability?"

"Hawkeye," Mustang warned. He wanted to place his hand on her arm again, but knew she would pull away from him.

"I apologize, General," Miles said mildly. "But my contact was adamant. I can assure you the information he provides is reliable."

Mustang nodded curtly. He was not interested in starting an argument at this time – not when he had so many other things to address. "I appreciate the intel. While I can understand his reluctance to reveal his identity, Captain Hawkeye is right. Please tell him that should he require sanctuary, he will always find it with the Amestrian army." A harsh sigh sounded to his left. Mustang felt a soft breeze on his cheek as Hawkeye turned her head away to face out the window.

Miles was undermining Mustang's authority, and she was not pleased.

"I will do that, Sir." Miles paused for a long moment. "There is one other issue… General."

"Great," Mustang quipped. "What now?"

"The Braak flu, Sir. It's been wreaking havoc amongst the troops. Three to four soldiers a day, at most recent estimate. The healthy soldiers have had to take on extra shifts to compensate for their absence."

Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew the Braack flu all too well – he was stricken with the illness during his last campaign in Ishval. The sickness was horrible: three to four days of vomiting, followed by up to a week of weakness and fevers. This had the potential to seriously reduce the number of troops at his disposal.

It looked like Ishval would pose an even greater challenge than he anticipated.

* * *

><p>It took nearly eight hours to traverse the long gravel road leading to Ishval. The landscape slowly transformed from lush, grassy plains to desolate, rocky sand. Hawkeye spent the trip staring out the window, a tight ball of nervous energy quickening in her stomach. Though they had long planned to rebuild Ishval, the sudden reality of returning to this place unearthed memories she would rather leave buried.<p>

She remembered the first time she arrived in Ishval. She had been so young - so eager to do her duty and make a difference in some small way. But it did not take long for her to realize the horror of battle and cruel reality of war. In the academy, she was well known for her keen eye and steady hand. She thought her skills would be put to use, to aid and protect. But ultimately, she was merely a tool: a puppet at the mercy of a man who later proved to be a homunculus.

She believed Ishval would forge her into the strong woman. A resolute woman. A woman she could never be while living under her father's heel. Instead the war broke her – made her question the difference between good and evil. It shook her faith.

She would have been lost had it not been for him. He gave her purpose again.

Riza stole a glance at her superior, now silent in the seat next to her. His hands wound around the guide pole, his knuckles as white as the painted wood beneath his fingers. He knew. He endured the same hell in Ishval. Like her, he had questioned his humanity during the cold cloudless nights when the sound of gunfire rang distant over the desert sands.

She wished she could give him a signal - to somehow tell him that she understood. To let him know that he was not the only one whose nightmares would return tonight. But she could not allow herself to cross that line. Not again. Not when so many lives – indeed, an entire race of people - depended on their resolve. Especially not when she was so unsure of what it might mean for them.

And so she hid from him, stalwartly maintaining the barrier she so desperately needed to protect him. She depended on that stability. Surely he would understand.

The car stopped near the officers' quarters of the newly-constructed barracks. The low-lying buildings were hastily built out of rough timber mere weeks before; they would serve as their base during the restoration efforts. A crowd of soldiers gathered around an elevated dais nearby. Mustang had insisted on addressing the troops immediately upon his arrival.

A soldier stepped up to the vehicle to open the door for the General. Hot air rushed into the car, and the scent of baked earth assaulted Riza's senses. She knew that smell all too well. Even now, she could taste the tang of blood in the air. She shook her head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts as she slid across the leather seat, following Mustang out the passenger door. She quickly helped him into his beige duster to keep out the desert sands. The feel of the smooth cloth beneath her fingers unlocked more memories. They filled her head and stilled her heart. Yet she resolutely took her position at Mustang's side, her hand briefly gripping his elbow to let him know where she stood.

"Well, Captain," Mustang's eyes sightlessly scanned the barren land that stretched in all directions. "We're here."

"Yes, Sir." They stood for a long moment together, taking in the intense heat, the sound of shifting sands. The setting of their nightmares made tangible once more.

Major Miles approached, his red eyes carefully scanning the troops as they gathered for Mustang's speech. "Most of the off-duty soldiers have assembled, General. We have the platform set up for you, if you're ready."

Mustang blinked for a moment, clearing his thoughts. "I am." His voice was firm, but Riza knew his outward calm hid inner turmoil. The carefully-constructed front was important: This would be his first interaction with the men and women that would form the backbone of the restoration efforts. He and Riza spent the evening prior to their departure finalizing his speech, carefully crafting it in the hopes that it might instill hope and promote unity. It would be no easy task.

Mustang turned toward her. His blank eyes bore into hers. "Walk me to the platform?"

Riza hesitated, about to refuse. She needed to find a position to cover him during his address. Though they came to rebuild, Mustang was a conspicuous target. His blindness made the task of protecting him doubly hard. But the sight of her superior in the painfully familiar duster, alone and unaided, destroyed her resolve. He needed her now more than ever.

"Of course, Sir." She stepped close. He smelled of cologne and campfire smoke. The familiar scent drowned out the memory-laden odor of Ishvalan sand. It calmed her, and her grip was steady as she led him across the hard-baked earth.

Mustang reached over to lay his palm over her hand. His fingers gently squeezed hers – whether for thanks or comfort, she was not sure. Perhaps it did not matter. For the first time in several weeks, she did not draw away. At this moment, she relied on his strength as much as he did hers. They walked slowly, basking in each other's presence.

A blaze of red fabric flashed in the corner of Riza's vision. She turned, hand staying towards the gun strapped to her belt. Her stomach flopped as she watched a large crowd of Ishvalans approach the camp, their bright traditional garb contrasting starkly with the drab scenery. Riza recognized the bald Ishvalan at the head of the assembly: the monk that had once been Scar's master. According to the reports she read prior to arriving in Ishval, he was serving as interim leader for their people.

"Sir," she muttered. "A group of Ishvalans have arrived. Mulvihill is with them."

Mustang's steps faltered. He raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Is that so?"

Riza watched as the Ishvalans slowly filed behind the ordered rows of Amestrian soldiers. "I… I think they've come to watch your speech."

Mustang grinned ruefully. "As if the pressure wasn't high enough." He laughed. "I guess it's a good thing I'm so damn charming."

Riza's fond smile was tempered with her exasperation. He always made light of the worst situations. The additional people made the task of protecting him harder than ever. _Now I have more people to cover while he stands unshielded._

They reached the stairs leading up to the platform. Riza skillfully helped guide his steps, careful to maintain his dignity in front of the soldiers' judicious eyes. She quickly scanned the crowd to ensure Breda, Falman, and the others had taken their positions. She did not like the idea of the General standing alone in front of so many people, but he had insisted. He needed to show them he was unafraid. Calm. Confident. The kind of leader Ishval needed.

Riza placed her hand at the small of Mustang's back as he took the last few steps up to the dais. She was surprised to feel something strapped to his belt. Even through his coat, she could tell it was a gun. _How strange,_ she wondered. _He doesn't usually carry a weapon._ Once, long ago, she tried to persuade Mustang to wear a firearm. He had laughed at the idea, telling her that his gloves were weapon enough and besides, he had her to do that. Now he carried one without prompt. _What does he think he can do with a gun when he can't even see his target?_ Perhaps the transfer had unhinged him more than she thought.

And then they were there, at the top of the dais. The dry wind whipped at their clothes. Hawkeye could only hear the sound of shifting sand and the occasional cough from a soldier below. It was time for her to leave him. Her hand slid from his elbow, but his fingers caught hers for a moment before he let go.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." His voice was barely a murmur, his empty eyes emotive.

"Captain," she corrected gently.

Mustang let out a gusty breath that he seemed to be holding, followed by a chuckle. "Right – sorry."

She smiled gently. "Good luck, Sir. I will be covering you." After a pause she added, "I won't be far."

"I know." His voice sounded strangely sad as she turned to step down from the platform.

It did not take her long to find a suitable position. It was at the rear of the crowd, slightly off from center and elevated enough to give her a good vantage of the surroundings. Her well-trained eyes spotted it as she walked the General to the dais. Falman handed Riza a hard-backed carrying case as she passed him, and she quickly mounted the stairs leading to the location. She leaned down to unlock the hinges of the case, revealing her dismantled sniper rifle. It was a matter of moments before the gun was assembled and ready. She quickly swept a cursory glance over the crowd for threats.

Though she knew she could keep her sights trained on the surroundings, her scope momentarily fell on Mustang. He was outwardly calm, his hands clasped behind him, as he stared sightlessly out at the crowd. She indulged in a small smile. He was ready. That meant she had to be, too. She returned to her task.

The General's voice rang clear and collected as he began his speech. "Good afternoon, soldiers. As you well know, I am Major General Roy Mustang, your commanding officer for this assignment." Row on row of blue-uniformed troops watched their new General wordlessly. The Ishvalans stood just as silent and still, their expressionless red eyes studying him carefully. "I also welcome the Ishvalan citizens in attendance today. They are our partners in this mission."

Riza nodded slightly to herself as she continued to scan the edges of the crowd. He was doing well.

"Ishval is a place of beginnings," Mustang continued. "For all of us."

Riza looked up from her scope at the General, her stomach curling in alarm. This was not the address they had carefully planned and agonized over for the past several nights. That speech had been purposefully benign: it made no promises nor did it broach past grievances. Had it been a flavor, she would best describe it as "vanilla."

But it seemed that Mustang had other plans today.

The General stood still and straight before the crowd he could not see. "For some of you soldiers, this is the first visit to Ishval. You did not experience the horrors of war that took place here, nor the injustices inflicted on the Ishvalan people. You only know of this place through rumor and story. For you, your beginning is a beginning in its most traditional sense. I hope you come with an open mind. I hope you come with the zeal and optimism of one that does not know what it is to kill. But most importantly, I hope you come with a willingness to make a difference."

Riza's hands trembled on her rifle and her view through the scope dipped perilously. _What does he think he's doing?_ She thought._ Why does he always have to make waves?_

"For others here," Mustang continued, "This is a return visit to Ishval." His voice did not waver; it rang stronger and clearer with each word. "Well do we remember this place, for who could forget something as awful as the battlefield? For you, this beginning is symbolic. I hope you come to show that we humans are not bound to or defined by our past. I hope you come to confront your faults and stand unafraid. But most importantly, I hope you come to make amends."

Riza's heart fluttered. Her attention was now on her General. She stared at him, rapt.

Mustang paused for a long moment before he continued. His voice was quieter, but Riza could still hear each word reverberate clearly over the desert sand. No one in the crowd moved or even seemed to breathe. "There is a third group here. These people were here in the past as well. They were living in this place long before Amestris existed." Mustang shifted slightly, but his voice remained steady. "For these people, this beginning is the most profound of all. This beginning is like a morning after a dark, cruel, and ceaseless night. For this group, I do not need to hope. For you – the Ishvalan people – possess an incredible durability of spirit that cannot be matched." Mustang's empty eyes lowered slightly. They seemed penitent. "I do ask something of you, though. I ask you to understand that Amestris will never forget its past mistakes. I ask you to allow us to help you as best we can. But mostly I ask – no, I beg – you to forgive us."

Riza waited, breathless, as her eyes fell to the crowd. Amestrian and Ishvalan alike stood still and silent for a very long moment. Then, as if following an unspoken signal, the Ishvalans began to file out, sandaled feet shuffling across the sandswept earth. None of them uttered a word.

Miles barked out an order of dismissal and the Amestrian soldiers fell out of formation to head to their normal daily tasks. Riza could barely hear their murmured conversation as she swept by them to reach Mustang. She handed her rifle to Falman as she passed. They grey haired man had an uncharacteristic look in his eyes; he barely registered Riza's gun as she pushed it into his hands. He, too, had been shocked by Mustang's impromptu speech.

Riza was at the General's side in moments. "What exactly was _that_, Sir?"

Mustang's lips slid into their characteristic grin. "I thought we wanted to make an impression."

She felt her anger boil. His speech certainly accomplished that goal. Not only had the new General stated flat-out that the Amestris was to blame for the war in Ishval, but he made himself appear weak. "A _good_ impression, Sir," she growled. "We wanted to make a _good_ impression."

Mustang's face was far too innocent. "How do you know I didn't?" He allowed her to lead him across the dais and down the stairs.

"I think the ringing silence was a pretty good indicator, General."

He reached over to pat her hand again. She noted that his palm was cold with sweat. "Trust me, Captain. It will be fine."

Riza suppressed her sigh. If only she could be so confident. Her eyes fell on the faces of a few nearby soldiers. They looked at Mustang with a mixture of distrust and confusion. And who could blame them? The venerable Flame Alchemist - hero of Ishval - had just begged for forgiveness in front of his new troops.

Mustang asked her to trust him, but with a start like this, Riza wondered how far her trust could stretch.

* * *

><p>Cadet Brantly was not pleased he pulled the night shift for the third time in a row. Not pleased at all. Tonight was supposed to his first night off since he arrived in this barren hellhole. He planned to meet the lovely and much-sought Cadet Bell for a late-night dinner in the mess hall. Maybe they would have a little romp afterwards.<p>

Instead he was patrolling the empty streets of Ishval. Not his idea of a well-spent night.

_What am I even guarding_? He thought sullenly. _Heaps of rubble and cobblestones?_ The Ishvalan camp was over a mile east from his post; the haphazardly-constructed military base was a mile to the north. Brantly had been assigned this area 'keep the streets safe.' Whatever that meant. There was nothing in sight but ruined stone and shifting piles of sand. The moonlight reflected dully off Brantly's firearm as he languidly stretched his stiff back.

_This is Mustang's fault. I wouldn't be out here if it weren't for his stupid decrees._ The Major General arrived several days ago to a lukewarm reception from Ishvalans and Amestrian soldiers alike. Mustang's first order had been to increase the number of personnel posted to nighttime guard. There had been no explanation for the increased security. _Well_, Brantly admitted to himself, to be more accurate, Captain Hawkeye had been the one to issue the command. Brantly did not see a purpose to all this cautiousness. _Things have been peaceful so far. There's no reason why soldiers need to be patrolling the streets at all hours of the night._

Brantly's stomach made a sharp gurgling noise. He cursed silently. _Just great – With my luck, I probably have the Braak flu._ It was the reason why he had so many shifts lately. Nearly a quarter of the Amestrian work force had contracted the illness. Yet another thing to add to his growing list of complaints in this cursed nation.

The cadet had just rounded another nondescript pile of rubble when a brief motion flashed in the corner of his eye. _The hell was that?_ Unbidden images of Ishvalan warrior-priests surfaced in his mind. Brantly had been too young to serve in the Ishvalan war, but he'd heard many stories from other soldiers about the ferocity of their fighters. One gap-toothed veteran once told Brantly he saw an Ishvalan warrior tear the head off his comrade with a single swipe. Not the most pleasant image to have in one's mind while alone in the streets of the Ishvalan ruins.

Brantly turned, gun at the ready, uncertain what awaited him.

He was greeted with a perplexing sight. A strange young boy crouched at the end of the alley, moonlight reflecting softly off his dark skin. White hair trailed down his back in tangled, filthy rolls. The boy's fingernails were long and yellowed; they flashed disturbingly as they caught the moonlight. He was dressed only in a ragged cloth tied about his waist with a frayed cord. Even in the dim light, Brantly recognized the boy's race; his tanned skin and scarlet eyes marked him clearly as an Ishvalan.

Brantly's blue eyes met the boy's red for a long moment. "H-Hello there. Are you lost?" He struggled to control the waver that entered his voice. There was something unnerving about this Ishvalan – more than his appearance alone. "Do you need help?"

The boy merely smiled, revealing broken and pitted teeth.

"Hey kid – did you hear me? What are you doing out here alone at night?" Brantly took a step towards the boy, slowly lowering his gun to show he meant no harm. "Where are your parents?"

At the soldier's approach, the boy folded further into his crouch. His hand slowly drifted behind his back to draw out a blade longer than his forearm. Its wicked edge flashed menacingly in the moonlight. The boy hissed softly, spittle flying from between his teeth.

"Hey now." Brantly raised his gun. "Put that down, kid. You're gonna hurt somebody."

The boy's only response was complete gibberish – certainly not the Ishvalan dialect. It was just a string of garbled babbling sounds, high-pitched and disturbing.

_Maybe it's one of those Lost Children_, Brantly thought to himself, his gun still fixed on the strange boy. In the wake of the Ishvalan war, many children were left to die in the ruins, parentless and alone. According to official records, all these children perished due to hunger and exposure within the first year. Yet the Lost Children lived on in a way, through Amestrian campfire stories: Tales of youthful Ishvalan ghosts haunting the abandoned ruins. Stories of apparitions floating over the place where their parents died. The Lost Children were the stuff of legend; something you might recount if you wanted to frighten your comrade on a dark, moonless night.

Yet here stood a boy that might very well be Lost Child. He certainly looked the part.

"Who… you?" Brantly attempted in Ishvalan. He still struggled with the language, and his tongue fumbled over the difficult inflections.

"I should ask the same." A high, reedy voice sounded behind him. "And why you're pointing a gun at my brother."

Brantly turned, his gun sweeping with him. Just two paces behind him stood a robed figure, its face hidden in the shadow of its hood. It stood utterly still, its cloak unmoving despite the dry breeze that whistled through the ruins.

"Wha-?" Brantly swallowed thickly to regain his composure. "Who are you?" He squinted at the intruder. The high voice and slight figure marked her as female – just a girl, if her height was any indication.

The cowled head lifted slightly. "I asked you first."

Brantly's hands began to sweat against the warm metal of his gun. The girl's calm was peculiar considering he veritably towered over her and held a firearm. "I'm Cadet Max Brantly, from the Amestrian army. D- do the two of you need help?"

"_Help_?" Brantly could not see it, but he knew the girl was sneering. "No, my brother and I do not need your… help."

"Well, you two shouldn't be out here this late at night. It's dangerous."

The girl laughed. It was soft and wheezing. "You're right. It _is_ dangerous."

Brantly kept his gun level, attempting to appear in control. "Right. You should move along, kids. I can escort you back to the Ishvalan camp. You'll be safe there."

She laughed again. This time it came in throaty peals. "Oh, I think you're mistaken. I didn't mean it was dangerous for _us_."

"Wha-?" Brantly lifted his gun towards the girl only to be interrupted by two impossibly strong arms that clasped around him from behind. He gasped as his weapon was pinned uselessly against his chest. _It's that boy_, his thoughts raced. _He's so strong! I didn't even hear him coming!_ Brantly thrashed in vain against the viselike grip. Despite his struggles, the boy's arms remained firm, trapping his hands to his sides. The ragged Ishvalan screamed strange gibberish in his ear; his breath reeked of rotting fish.

"Now that you mention it, perhaps we _do_ need your help, Cadet." Brantly turned his attention back to the girl, who had stepped closer to him during his confusion. "I am in need of a pawn, and you are a perfect candidate. Hold still. I have something I want you to do." The girl's hand rose, pale in the moonlight. Brantly vaguely registered a red substance that shone wetly on her fingertips. Her index finger traced along his forehead for a moment. There was a flash of red light.

Brantly screamed.

His vision narrowed, quickly fading from the edges. Soon all he could see was a tiny pinprick – a speck at the end of a very long, dark tunnel. He felt himself falling, falling into something dark and suffocating. He could not move. He could not breathe. It was uncomfortably silent and still in this place.

Then the pain came. It entered his head like a knife, like a bolt of lightning. He screamed, again and again until his lungs were airless and spent.

But as suddenly as the pain came, it was gone. Brantly's vision slowly returned and he felt his feet on solid ground once more. He looked around him, dimly aware of the stone rubble that surrounded him. A soft smile began to spread on his lips. His mind felt wonderfully empty and carefree.

"Cadet." The voice was sharp and commanding. "Look at me."

Brantly slowly drew his eyes down to the hooded figure. His movements felt sluggish – like each was made through honey. His tongue lay thick in his mouth. He barely registered a soft clatter as his gun fell from his limp fingers.

And suddenly his eyes were on the girl. She had drawn back her hood, and he could see her face cast by the pale moonlight. Taught scars marred her head and neck; they obliterated any features that made her human. In some places, her flesh appeared melted, dripping disturbingly from her temples. Hairless, lidless, noseless – her maggoty pale skin was the stuff of nightmares.

Yet Brantly remained strangely unafraid. He found himself trusting the young girl. He looked at her expectantly with adoring eyes.

"Now," the girl said sharply. "I want you to do something for me." Her red gaze met Brantly's blue with cold clarity.

"Yes," Brantly replied. "Anything for you."

As the girl began relaying her instructions, Brantly found himself nodding eagerly. He was happy to please this girl. In fact, it was all he wanted to do.

Even if it meant hurting someone.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Bad news: It's been nearly a month since I last posted. Good news: This chapter is one of the longest yet, and I wrote the bulk of _four_ chapters in the interim (Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9 + Ch 19ish)! Get ready, folks. You're in for a wild ride.**

***Shameless Self-Plug: If you're looking to a warm, fuzzy, and somewhat funny Royai train ride, check out The Train Incident by yours truly. It's a story I wrote on a whim while working on this chapter. Kind of an "I wish things could happen _this_ way instead of being all angsty" story. It was great fun to write, and I'm inordinately proud of the thing. So take a look and leave a review!**

**Next Chapter: Snarl**


	8. Snarl

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 8****: Snarl ( / snärl / ) – A gift, a crisis, and a teacher.**

**1. **_**noun**_** - ****a vicious, angry growl**

**2. **_**noun**_** - a confused, complicated, or tangled situation; a predicament**

**3. **_**verb**_** – to utter in an angry, sharp, or abrupt tone**

* * *

><p>"Just take him."<p>

"I couldn't. I know how much he means to you."

"I want you to have him."

"No."

"He would be useful to you."

"For the last time, I am not taking your dog, Hawkeye."

"_Sir..._"

"_Captain,_" Mustang teased her, echoing her exasperated tone.

Riza sighed, leash clenched in one hand. He could be so stubborn sometimes. But two could play at that game. "General, as the individual primarily responsible for your security, I insist."

Mustang cocked his head. "And what exactly does your _dog_ have to do with my security?"

The General knew exactly what prompted the sudden proposal that he take her dog. A soldier had gone missing overnight. It was probably nothing – perhaps he had forgotten to report back or he had gotten turned around in the ruins. But the report put Riza on edge, motivating her to offer her dog to the General for added security. "I've been training him since I first got him, Sir. He could… protect you."

His eyebrow arched. "Protect me? Why would I need protection? Are you planning on going somewhere, Hawkeye?"

"No, Sir "It's just -" She paused. She needed to phrase this perfectly.

She truly did want to lend the General her beloved pet. Mustang still insisted on living alone, and Black Hayate would provide the early warning he needed to protect himself. But the Flame Alchemist was a hard man to persuade. He could be stubborn – mulishly so – when he mustered the energy. Riza did have one advantage: she spoke the language that swayed him. After years of practice, she knew precisely what to say to steer his decisions.

For Riza, persuasion meant momentarily laying aside the businesslike relationship she found so comfortable. She had to appeal to the part of him that was not a military General. She had to talk to him as she once did when they were young, living together at the Hawkeye estate. He had been such a petulant boy then. Raised in a brothel. Coddled. Surrounded by women that bent to his will like willow trees. What a surprise when he encountered the Master's young daughter. Even as a scrawny girl, Riza had been as unyielding as an oak.

"You owe me," she said firmly.

Mustang leaned back comfortably in his chair, his mouth twisting into a smirk. He recognized her tone all too well. "I do?"

"Yes."

He tucked his hands behind his head, clearly enjoying the debate. "Pray tell, how did I manage to become indebted to you _this_ time?"

She refused to let his apparent nonchalance irk her. It was merely a well-played act. She knew him to his very bones. "Let's start with that speech."

Mustang did not move from his recumbent position, but she saw a slight shift beneath his uniform. His shoulders had tensed, betraying his insecurity to her adept eyes. "What about it?"

It felt strangely wonderful to have such a frivolous argument. For the past few weeks things had been so tense – so uncertain – between them. This debate was a welcome return to some semblance of normalcy. She realized suddenly how much she missed simply talking to him: the light, measured cadence of their office exchanges. _How masochistic_, she thought bitterly. _That arguing is the only way I can satisfy that need._

Riza drew a calming breath. "There was a reason why we spent so much time writing your speech prior to arriving here." She refused to address him as 'sir' right now. She would not allow him any purchase. Not when she had this one chance at victory.

His hands dropped slightly from behind his head. "Things… changed. We had not expected the Ishvalans to arrive. The speech we prepared didn't seem… right."

"Something tells me," she said drily, "that you did not intend to use the speech – which we spent _hours_ writing, by the way – in the first place. Ishvalans or no."

His smile turned slightly sheepish and he shrugged. "I think it went well."

Here was her chance. She could practically taste her impending victory. "It went so well that the Ishvalan leadership has refused to see you until today?" She could tell her words hit home by the stricken expression on his face. He had made it all too easy for her. She almost pitied him. Almost.

It was true. They waited three long days for the Ishvalans to respond to their requests to meet. Meanwhile they sat, twiddling their thumbs, as they waited to proceed with the reconstruction. It was not the start they had hoped for.

Mustang shifted uncomfortably. "It was just a power play. They want to feel in control of the situation. I can understand that." His hands dropped to his lap. "It doesn't matter, anyway. We're meeting them – that's the important thing."

She decided not to respond. Mustang was a master at clever retorts; at times, his tongue cut like a hot knife through butter. But Riza knew that silence disarmed him. It was her primary tactic in their frequent quarrels. She inhabited silence as skillfully as he spat biting comments.

He cleared his throat after the quiet stretched uncomfortably long. His sightless eyes dropped to the hands that twisted in his lap. When he finally spoke, it was hardly a murmur, but she could hear an undertone that gave it a raw and uneven edge. "The reason for the speech… There were things I needed to say."

_Things he needed to…_ she mused. _Of course._ How could she have been so blind? He did not need to say more, for she knew the confounding mix of emotion that swirled within him. Her heart ached in tandem with his.

Yes, he had things he needed to say – just as she did. She chose to express them through action, quietly doing her duty every day. And Mustang, in an unpredictable yet not unexpected act of audacity, had chosen words. How had she not seen it before?

Riza watched as he bowed his head, lost in the silent flurry of his own thoughts. She wanted to go to him, to rest her hand at the nape of his neck and run her fingers through his hair, just as she did in the wake of the Promised Day. She took a step toward him, but the memory of his lips over her scar halted her. She stood frozen, her hand hovering uselessly at the level of his neck. She could not bring herself to touch him.

Her General sat silent, oblivious to her indecision. The silence stretched, long and full of meaning.

She was so exhausted. Tired of hanging in this strange limbo with him. Never moving forward, always looking back. Their goals for the country always came before their personal lives. For years she had asked nothing for herself. But now every fiber of her being demanded she answer the silent plea of her heart.

She took another step towards him. Her fingers were mere inches from his bowed head.

_Why?_ she thought dismally. _Why can I never go to him? Why do I always pull away?_ She shook her head in a lame attempt to stir her determination. This was her chance to make up for that dreadful night when she fled his apartment. Below her, Hayate whimpered softly. He could sense his master's wavering resolve. _Just do it,_ she silently urged herself. _Just reach out and touch him._

As if hearing her thoughts, Mustang raised his head. Riza silently recoiled, afraid she had been caught in the act of something unseemly.

His voice was resigned. "Alright, Captain."

Riza paused. Had he somehow sensed her nearness? Did he know how close she had come to bridging the gap that stood between them? "…Sir?"

"Alright," he replied impatiently. "I'll take your damn dog."

"Y-Yes." She tried not to sound too relieved. "Of course."

Mustang's eyebrow raised quizzically at her shaky tone. "Having second thoughts?"

"No, of course not," she replied firmly. In truth, she _was_ having second thoughts. But they were not about lending her pet to her commanding officer. Rather, her mind lingered on past regrets and missed opportunities.

He held out his hand for the leash. Riza hesitated again, suddenly realizing that she would now be bereft of her constant canine companion.

A smirk slowly grew on Mustang's lips when Hawkeye still had not handed him the leash. "You're _sure_ you don't have second thoughts?"

"No, Sir. It's just…"

"Just what?"

She could not help it – she had to say it. She loved her dog too much. And so she began to engage in something she rarely did. She gave her commanding officer an order. "Just… Make sure you let him out when you get back to your flat every night. He needs exercise." Once started, she could not help but add a few more words of 'advice.' "And don't forget to give him some meat in addition to his regular chow from time to time. And please… Promise me you won't let him up on the bed. And make sure you don't - "

Mustang laughed. "Easy Hawkeye. I'll take care of him. You know I love dogs."

She allowed herself a small smile. "You only 'love' them because… How did you say it? You can 'be a jerk to them and they won't complain?'"

His laugh was a true one, coming from deep within his belly. She had not heard that sound in a very, very long time. It filled her with a warm, wonderful feeling. Mustang raised his hand solemnly, as if giving an oath. "I swear I will look after Black Hayate with the same care and devotion that you would, Captain."

Riza snorted. She very much doubted that. Yet she placed the leash in the General's outstretched hand. He chuckled again when he had to tug on the leather band several times before she relinquished her hold. Hayate padded to Mustang's side, but kept his gaze on Riza. The little dog's brown eyes somehow seemed to convey understanding that he had a new duty now. Riza swallowed down the choking feeling that rose in her throat. She had not expected to be so emotional over her dog.

"Hawkeye." Mustang's voice was gentle.

"Sir?"

"Thank you."

"It's… it's nothing Sir."

"Not nothing. This dog means everything to you."

The warm, comfortable feeling spread further, enveloping her. _Don't you know by now, Roy?_ she thought. _Don't you know that I-_

The door to Mustang's office opened with a startling bang. A breathless Fuery burst into the room. He managed a brief salute before launching into a report. "Apologies, Sirs! I just received a call from-" He paused to send a cursory look around the room and ensure they were alone. His tone was more hushed as he continued. "I just received a call from Dr. Marcoh. He has an urgent message for the General. I left him waiting on the line."

Riza turned toward Mustang only to find his sightless eyes regarding her. A silent message passed between them. Mustang was due to see the Ishvalan leadership soon; there was no time for him to receive Marcoh's call. "I'll take care of it, Sir," she said softly, reading his silent question. She did not like the idea of leaving him now – not when he was about to participate in the first and most important meeting in Ishval, but this call could be important.

"Hurry back."

"Yes, Sir." She turned to Fuery. "Have Breda come to the office at once. He will escort the General to the meeting with the Ishvalans."

"Yes, Ma'am. The doctor is on line three." Fuery saluted and whisked away.

Riza sent one last glance at Mustang before starting off briskly towards the communications center. He sat silently, one hand stroking Hayate's head, brows furrowed in thought.

The communication center was located several buildings away from headquarters. Riza strode towards it at a brisk pace.

The Amestrian camp was already busy despite the early hour. Horses and military cars rushed through the wide avenue, stirring up dust in their wake. Soldiers going to or coming from their guard duties chatted loudly over the din of nearby construction. Though the sun had just barely peaked over the buildings, Riza began to sweat in her wool uniform.

She entered the building and quickly made her way to the back of the structure. Mustang had arranged for Fuery to have his own personal communication suite to ensure maximal privacy for the team's more surreptitious messages. She pulled the key from off her belt and let herself into the room.

The phone lay next to a neatly stacked pile of files. Closing the door securely behind her, Riza reached for the receiver and connected to line three. "This is Captain Hawkeye."

Marcoh's voice was hardly recognizable through the crackle. Communications were still tenuous in Ishval, and it was common to have a poor connection. "Captain Hawkeye? Where's Mustang? Is everything-"

"Everything is fine, Doctor. He's currently detained. He sent me to receive your message."

"I see. I was hoping to speak to him directly regarding this."

"I'm sorry, doctor," Riza said crisply. "I'm the best you are going to get. I will relay the message to him immediately."

"I'm glad to hear he's keeping busy down there, even without his sight," Marcoh said conversationally. He was stalling.

Riza sighed. This was taking too long already. She needed to hurry this along. "Doctor, what is this about?"

Marcoh paused. "I have news… about the stone."

Riza's gut wrenched. She did not like the sound of his tone. "Go on."

"I have done some experiments on the fragments," Marcoh said slowly. "At first I wasn't sure… it didn't seem right…" He was silent for a long moment.

A feeling of foreboding spread through her. "What is it? What did you find, doctor?"

"The… _thing_ we used that morning – when we tried to repair Mustang's sight… It wasn't… real."

It felt like her heart stopped. "What do you mean 'wasn't real?'"

Marcoh let out a gusty sigh, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. "It wasn't a real Philosopher's stone."

At first she was unsure if she heard him correctly. There was no way that could be true. Marcoh used the stone to heal Havoc the night before. How could it not be real? "Are you certain? You're sure the stone did not simply run out of energy, as General Mustang thought?"

"Yes," Marcoh replied seriously. "I am absolutely certain. The stone I had that morning – it was _not_ a Philosopher's stone. The components were ordinary elements. It was something called spinel, to be more precise."

Her stomach twisted in horrible knots. "But you used a Philosopher's stone on Havoc the night before."

"…That's correct, Captain."

"So… you are telling me, doctor, that sometime between that evening and the following morning, you… misplaced the stone."

"I… no. I swear it was secure, Captain!" Marcoh said, his voice desperate. "I found it just as I left it the night before. I even had it alchemically locked!"

Riza felt anger begin to grow within her. "Then explain to me how this can be, doctor."

"I think you and I already know the answer to that," he replied, his voice resigned. "Someone took the stone. Someone with enough alchemic skill to circumvent my trap and make a believable replica to replace it."

Riza could not speak for a moment. The weight of the report fell upon her, stealing her breath. Not only had they lost the stone, but now there was a distinct possibility that it was in the possession of a highly capable alchemist. This had the potential to cause major havoc in Amestris. And they were to blame. She should have been more careful – taken further measures to ensure the security of the stone. Now danger hovered unseen, the intent of this thief as yet unclear.

"I'm… so sorry Captain." Marcoh said softly through the static over the line. "This is… all my fault."

Riza swallowed her fury. There was nothing they could do now to change the disquieting truth. "Thank you for informing us, doctor. Please continue investigating. If you learn anything, let us know immediately."

"Of… of course," Marcoh choked. "I'll keep researching. Maybe there's something more I can do for… for him."

"Again, thank you," she said crisply. "Goodbye, Doctor Marcoh."

Riza hung up the phone. She did not move for a long time. Her hand clenched the receiver, knuckles growing white. She needed to gather herself. She felt overwhelmed. It was too much. Tensions with the Ishvalan leadership. The threat of a resistance group. Her fluctuating and uncertain relationship with Mustang. And now, a Philosopher's stone in the hands of an unknown thief.

She took a shuddering breath to rouse herself out of her reverie. She had to concentrate. Mustang needed her. The thought of him facing the Ishvalan leaders alone focused her resolve. She would just have to face each issue as they arose. Somehow, she knew they would make it through.

Steeling her resolve, Riza set off to return to her General.

* * *

><p>Breda shifted uncomfortably in his position behind Mustang's seat. He had been standing there, waiting for the Ishvalans to arrive, for more than ten minutes. "Think they'll show up, General?" His foot was falling asleep and the tent they occupied was quickly heating under the light of the midmorning sun. Breda was tired of the Ishvalans always giving Mustang the short shrift. Couldn't they see they were only there to help them rebuild?<p>

Breda ignored the scathing look Major Miles shot him from the opposite corner of the tent.

"They'll come, Breda." Mustang reassured. By all appearances, he seemed completely at ease, sitting comfortably in his chair and softly stroking Black Hayate's head. He did not look like a man about to meet the leadership of a nation.

They agreed to convene at a neutral location, at the very heart of the Ishvalan ruins – no guns or weapons of any kind. The tent they set up for the gathering was Spartan – filled with a few simple chairs over a patch of smooth earth. Three seats stood empty across from Mustang, waiting for the Ishvalans to occupy them.

Falman's head appeared through the tent entrance. "They're here, sir."

"Thank you, Falman." Mustang rose from his seat, a confident smile growing on his face. "You see Breda? Have a little faith."

"I'll have faith when this is over and we're still kicking, sir." Breda watched their guests file into the sweltering tent.

"Oh come now," Mustang scoffed. "We're just talking. I think we'll survive."

The bald master, Mulvihill, was the first Ishvalan to enter. As always, he emanated a peaceful tranquility, a small smile playing on his lips. Behind him, two other Ishvalans followed. One was an elderly woman, her tanned face kindly. The other was a middle-aged man, his pinched features giving him a permanent expression of disgust. They filed in silently, the whisper of their sandaled feet barely audible. They came to stand before the chairs, but did not sit.

After a long quiet, Mustang proceeded. "Welcome." He dipped his head, hand over his heart, in a formal Ishvalan greeting. "I am glad to finally meet with you."

Mulvihill and the elderly woman returned the bow solemnly. The pinch-faced man merely scowled. "Thank you for your patience, General," Mulvihill said. "Our people value unity above all things. We have spent the past days in council, coming to consensus about how we wish to proceed."

"I understand. Please, have a seat."

The two older leaders exchanged lightly bemused glances. The pinch-faced man's lips twisted in distain. Ignoring the chairs set out for them, the three Ishvalans settled comfortably on the earthen floor. Mustang's brow furrowed when he did not hear the sound of creaking wood.

Breda stepped to his side. "They're sitting on the ground, sir."

"Ah." The General hesitated for only a moment before sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his chair. Black Hayate settled at his side.

_Probably a smart move_, Breda thought. _It wouldn't look good to sit in a chair above them like some kind of lord._

Indeed, Master Mulvihill nodded his head in approval. "Please allow me to introduce the other members of the Ishvalan council." He gestured to the woman on his right. "This is Caelyn, an elder amongst her people, elected for her wisdom. She speaks for those that come from the eastern and southern regions." His hand swung to indicate the man that sat on his other side. "And this is Alain. His people elected him for his wit and cunning. He represents those that come from north and west. I represent those from Central."

The elderly woman – Caelyn – spoke. "I am glad to meet with you, Roy Mustang." Her voice was cracked, but warm. "The things you spoke of when you came to this country filled me with gladness."

The pinch-faced council member shot her a withering glare. Clearly Mustang's words had not 'filled him with gladness.'

_That Alain guy looks pissed_, Breda thought._ I guess not all the Ishvalans are happy with Mustang's speech_. He would have to watch out for that one.

"I'm pleased to meet you as well," Mustang replied. "How would you like to proceed?"

Mulvihill nodded. "Things are already going very well, thanks to the efforts of Major Miles."

Breda saw Mustang's lips turn down in the slightest of frowns. It was subtle – hardly noticeable – but definitely there. Breda glanced up at Miles, still positioned in the corner behind the Ishvalan leaders. The white-haired Major had a satisfied smile plastered on his face. Breda resisted the strong urge to punch the smug bastard.

"But," Mulvihill continued, "we do have a few requests regarding the new buildings."

The General nodded. "Of course. We will do the best we can to fulfill them."

Mulvihill began to launch into a detailed description of Ishvalan construction. Apparently, more care was put into erecting a simple home than Breda had ever imagined. It was incredible how important certain things were to the Ishvalans: how the primary entrance was required to face east, towards the rising sun; how granite was superior to sandstone for a cooler interior; how the hearthfire represented the heart of a family, and therefore must be positioned in the center of the home. Breda was grateful for his near-photographic memory as the details grew more and more intricate.

It took nearly an hour for Mulvihill to describe their building requests. Hawkeye slipped into the tent about fifteen minutes into the lecture, her expression severe. Breda suspected that Marcoh did not have pleasant news for the team. As usual, Mustang seemed to know she entered. His head lifted to follow her as she silently made her way to a corner of the tent. His blank eyes regarded her thoughtfully for a moment before he set his attention back on Mulvihill.

"That all sounds agreeable," Mustang said after the master had finished. "We can arrange to have Ishvalan consultants on the construction teams to ensure your requests are carried out."

"Thank you, Roy Mustang." Caelyn said, her lips spreading in a grandmotherly smile.

"I'm glad to help. Perhaps we can meet again tomorrow to discuss more?" Mustang offered.

Mulvihill nodded. "It would please us to-" He stopped abruptly when a loud commotion erupted outside. It sounded like an argument.

Breda recognized Falman's gruff voice, muffled through the tent. "I told you to put the knife down!"

"Let us in to see them now!" Replied a man's gruff voice. Breda recognized a harsh Ishvalan accent.

Mustang and the three leaders stood. Hawkeye and Miles slipped quickly slipped out the tent entrance to assess the situation. Breda maintained his position at Mustang's side. His hand strayed to his belt, only realizing seconds later that he had left his firearm back in the office. This was supposed to be a peaceful meeting, after all.

_So much for that_, Breda thought grimly.

For several tense minutes, they could only hear the indistinct murmur of strained dialogue. Breda could not make out the words exchanged, but he recognized Hawkeye's tone: Serious. Deadly.

Finally, Major Miles ducked into the tent. He immediately went to Mustang's side. "We have a situation, General."

"I gathered," Mustang said dryly.

Breda looked up as three men entered the tent, Hawkeye following close behind. Two of them were Ishvalans. One was holding a knife to the throat of the third man, a young Amestrian soldier with sandy hair. Tears streaked from the cadet's dirt-smudged face and blood trailed from his clearly broken nose. Breda did not recognize him.

Miles leaned toward Mustang to describe the scene. "Two Ishvalans, General. Both wearing symbols of the resistance group. They have one of ours hostage."

Mustang nodded, his empty eyes narrowed. Below him, Black Hayate emitted a soft snarl. Breda noted that both the Ishvalans were wearing white armbands emblazoned with a red triquetra. _So that must be the resistance symbol_, he thought.

Mulvihill stepped forward. "What is the meaning of this, Shane? How _dare_ you do this?"

The tallest Ishvalan – apparently named Shane – spoke, his deep bass filling the tent. "Why don't you ask that of the so-called General? We're here because we were betrayed. We were told that the Amestrians were here to 'keep us safe.'"

"We are," Mustang said calmly. But Breda could see the General's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Tell us what happened. And why you have taken one of my soldiers hostage."

"I don't take orders from _you_, murderer," the Shane sneered.

"Shane, calm yourself," Caelyn said. She rested a wrinkled hand on the tall man's arm. "We cannot resolve this without knowing more. Do you want this to result in fighting?"

Shane stared at the elderly woman for a long moment. Finally, he nodded at the other Ishvalan, who still held the Amestrian soldier captive. "Tell them."

Shane's companion tightened his grip on his hostage and pulled the knife more firmly against the skin of his throat. "I found this man in my house this morning. He had broken in while I was away, getting rations for my family. He attacked and bound my children… and my wife... She…" The man's voice broke. "If I had not gotten there in time…"

Shane turned back to Mulvihill. "You see? The Amestrians have not changed. They will never change. They come into our homes and take what they want-"

"No!" The sandy-haired Amestrian soldier pleaded. "I swear I don't know how I even got there. I-"

"Silence!" Shane hissed. "You have no right to speak."

"I will judge who may speak, Shane." Mulvihill said gravely. His wise eyes regarded the young cadet. "This is grievous news. What is your name, Amestrian?"

"B- Brantly. Cadet Max Brantly."

"Why did you do this thing to our people, Max Brantly?"

The young soldier began to sob. "I swear… I swear! I didn't do it! I would never do something like that. The last thing I remember was being on patrol. I don't even know-"

"Liar," Shane sneered.

Mulvihill held up a hand. He turned to Mustang. "General, we had your reassurances. We had your promise that you were here to rebuild. Now your words seem empty to me. How can we trust your soldiers when we cannot be safe in our own homes?"

The still that pervaded the tent was thick, seeming to root its occupants in place. Breda held his breath. This was disastrous. Beyond disastrous. This could ruin everything.

Mustang broke through the silence, his voice grave. "I cannot begin to express how seriously I take this situation, Master. He is one of my soldiers and under my command. I take full responsibility for his actions."

Breda saw a panicked expression bloom on Hawkeye's face. _Watch what you say, General,_ Breda thought grimly.

Counselor Caelyn's wrinkled face seemed to age before Breda's eyes. "Tell me, General, how do propose to amend this?"

Shane growled. "This soldier deserves the pain he caused and worse! His punishment should be dealt by _Ishvalan_ hands."

Counselor Alain spoke for the first time since he entered the tent. His pinched face was fixed in a grim expression. "I agree. This is _our_ country. The Amestrians should follow _our_ laws while they are here."

Mustang ignored their comments. His blank eyes did not look away from Mulvihill. "Master, I ask you to turn this soldier over to me. I swear he will be punished for his actions. He did this thing while under the command of the Amestrian army, and is therefore subject to military law. He will serve as an example of what happens to those that harm any Ishvalan."

Counselor Caelyn's wise eyes lingered on the General for a long moment. "I agree to these terms."

"What?" Shane shouted. "How could you bow to this murderer?"

"Silence!" Mulvihill repeated, his peaceful countenance cracking for a moment. He glanced over at Alain. "What is your view, Counselor?"

"You already know, Master. He deserves Ishvalan justice."

Mulvihill nodded. "I disagree. I choose to return him to the Amestrians." He bowed his head formally. "The vote is two against one. It is decided. General, you will be responsible for this soldier's punishment."

Shane let out a grunt of disgust and stormed out of the tent. The man with the knife reluctantly released his hold. He spat on Brantly before following Shane outside. The cadet collapsed on the ground, dissolving into broken sobs.

"Thank you, Master," Mustang said gratefully. "This will not happen again. I swear it."

Mulvihill let out an exhausted sigh. "I have learned not to judge a nation by the act of one man. In the past, such things have led to war." He reached out to squeeze Mustang's shoulder. "We will talk again soon, General." The three Ishvalan leaders strode out of the tent quietly. Before he left, Counselor Alain sent one last hateful glance in Mustang's direction.

Major Miles followed to escort them back to the Ishvalan camp.

The members of Mustang's team did not speak for a long time. Cadet Brantly wept quietly in the corner.

The General signaled Breda. "Bring him to me." His voice was disturbingly soft.

Breda strode to the young soldier and grabbed his elbow. "On your feet, soldier."

The cadet rose weakly from the floor and shuffled to his commanding officer. "Sir," he blubbered. "I-"

"Shut. Up." Mustang spat. He sightlessly reached forward to grasp the cadet's collar. "You will not speak. You have lost that right." His grip tightened, and Brantly let out an agonized gasp. Breda watched, frozen, as the General's eyes changed. He had never seen such a horrible expression on his superior's face. For the first time, Breda could understand why the Ishvalan called Mustang a murderer. The General's eyes held death.

Cadet Brantly gasped for air as Mustang's fingers constricted around his collar.

"General," Breda said softly. "I don't-"

"Don't interrupt," Mustang said with grave finality. His fingers closed ever tighter on the young soldier's neck. Brantly's lips began to take on a blue tinge. "Do. Not. Interrupt. This."

Hawkeye appeared at his side. "General," she said softly. "Stop."

Mustang did not move. His eyes were fixed in their horrible expression. Cadet Brantly's fingers scrabbled at his commanding officer's hands in his struggle for air.

Hawkeye rested her hand on his cheek. "Stop," she said again.

Mustang blinked, as if coming from a trance. He released his grip and Brantly fell to the floor in a shuddering heap. The General's sightless eyes drifted to Hawkeye for a moment before trailing to where the cadet choked on the dirt floor. His brows furrowed. "Take him to the brig," he spat.

With the help of Falman, Breda pulled the young soldier back to his feet. As he half-led, half-drug the young man from the tent, he cast one last glance at his commanding officer. Hawkeye still hovered next to him, a worried expression playing over her face. Mustang dropped into his chair and his head fell into his hands.

_What the hell was that?_ Breda wondered.

* * *

><p>Mustang slumped at his desk. Only a week into his assignment in Ishval, and he was already exhausted. It seemed that everything that could possibly go wrong, had. The situation involving Cadet Brantly was thankfully past, but it was only a matter of time before another crisis arose. Mustang was grateful the Ishvalan leadership had been open to discussion, but he doubted they would be so forgiving in the future.<p>

His fingers absently ran over the soft fur that lined Hayate's ears. The little dog sighed, head resting on Mustang's knee. At least the canine did not judge him. Give him some food and a pat on the head, and Hayate was happy. If only everyone were so easily satisfied. He had to admit he was grateful for Hawkeye's beloved pet.

_Hawkeye…_ his mind lingered over his silent bodyguard. Once again, she talked him down. He was not sure what he would have done to Brantly had she not been there.

The Captain was more a mystery to him with each passing day. At once avoiding him and simultaneously closer to him than ever before. The Promised Day showed him that he would no longer be satisfied with the comfortable, platonic friendship they once enjoyed. The mortal wound on her neck and the decision he made in the halls below Central had shaken him. It made him question the essence of their relationship. And it made him realize something vital: he almost lost the vanguard of his soul on that day.

Mustang jumped when he heard a soft clicking sound coming from the window behind him. Hayate lifted his head, a soft growl rumbling through his chest. _What the hell was that?_ Mustang thought, his hand drifting to the pocket where he kept his gloves. The military headquarters was located in the only multi-story building in the camp. The General's office was on the third floor; there was no way someone could reach the window without a ladder.

There was another click, followed by the creak of the window swinging open on its poorly-oiled hinges. He felt hot air from outside brush against his neck. Mustang rose, backing against his desk as he pulled on his gloves in one smooth motion. He heard Hayate position himself in front of his new master protectively, the continuous growl rumbling louder.

"Who's there?" Mustang demanded. He held his hands parallel before him, ready to clap together at the first sign of movement.

"What a way to greet your teacher." The voice was feminine. It had a soft, round inflection that sounded strangely familiar. "Not very hospitable."

Mustang paused. _My teacher? _The only teacher he had ever known was now dead. _Who is this woman?_ His hands remained raised, at the ready. "Most people use the door."

"Clearly I am not most people," the woman's voice held a hint of amusement under the strange accent.

"Clearly," Mustang replied flatly. Below him, Hayate snarled, agitated. "Would you mind telling me who you are and how it is you came through my window?"

"I am Suyin," she replied simply, as if her name was enough to explain everything.

Mustang's brows knit in confusion. He did not know anyone by that name.

Suyin let out an exasperated sigh. She spoke slowly, as if to a child. "Madam Christmas asked me to come here to teach you alkahestry."

He blinked. Of course – he had almost forgotten the request he made to his foster mother before the transfer to Ishval. It had been weeks since he last met with Christmas. He had nearly given up on the idea, convinced that the Madam was unable to find someone brave enough to cross the great desert, let alone willing to teach an Amestrian the secret workings of Xingese Alkahestry. It must have taken a great deal to persuade this Suyin woman to come to Ishval. The fact that she was here now only meant one thing…

"You must owe Madam a big favor," Mustang smirked. He lowered his hands and reached down to pat Hayate reassuringly. The little dog quieted, but his body felt stiff and tense under Mustang's hand.

"That is an understatement." Suyin sighed. He heard a soft swishing sound as she stepped further into the room. Her footsteps were barely audible, even to his honed ears.

Not sure what to make of his new 'teacher,' Mustang returned to his chair. He swept his hand in the direction of the two chairs positioned in front of his desk, inviting her to sit. She did not. "So, you know alkahestry," he said to fill the awkward silence that followed.

"Yes."

"You're from Xing, then?" That explained the accent. He heard a similar one from Ling and that strange little princess that healed Hawkeye on the Promised Day.

"Naturally." Suyin's tone told him that she thought he was an idiot for even asking.

Mustang frowned. He did not like the way this conversation was going. Clearly Suyin was not one to engage in small talk. "Just what kind of favor do you owe Madam Christmas, anyway?"

"I would rather not say," she replied stiffly. He heard her swish over to the side of his desk. "My turn to ask questions… Mustang, is it?"

"_General_ Mustang," he corrected, his voice just as stiff. This woman was beginning to irk him.

"Tell me, Mustang, why am I here to teach you alkahestry?"

The General passed a hand over his eyes. "It's kind of hard to explain."

"Try hard, then."

His frown deepened, but he nodded. It _would_ be perplexing that someone of his rank and status need learn a seemingly redundant skill – especially when he was now one of the most powerful alchemists in Amestris. He would need to explain. He owed her at least that much for traversing the great desert. He paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to describe an ambiguous goal he had been seeking for weeks. "I've been told that you alkahestrists _sense_ your environment," he said deliberately. "You're in harmony with it, in a manner of speaking."

"Yes, 'in a manner of speaking' as you say."

"We alchemists don't operate that way. We follow the three steps of Undertanding, Deconstructing, and Reconstructing matter." He sighed, still frustrated at his lack of progress. Despite the encoded notes Hawkeye read to him, none of his research or equations had helped him make any progress with replacing his lost sight. "Something I read once indicates that the Understanding step may be at least partially based on the idea of being 'in tune' with the nature of things." He shrugged. "I don't know how to do this. We alchemists _manipulate_ our environment… we never bother synchronizing with it." He fixed Suyin with a blank stare. "I'm not sure how, but I want to try to use alkahestry to see again."

The Xingese woman was silent for a long time. "Huh."

"Well? Is it possible?"

Her words came out slowly. "In… a manner of speaking… yes."

Mustang sat up in his seat. This was the news he hoping for when he slipped Madam Christmas that note. "What do you mean?"

Suyin padded nearer. He heard a soft thump as she jumped up to perch on his desk. Mustang was too excited to care. "We, too, have blind in Xing. Many of them use alkahestry."

He nodded. "Go on."

"Hm… Understanding, did you call it?" She waited for Mustang's affirmative nod. "Yes, I suppose that would be a good term. They use alkahestry to Understand the world around them. They can sense things that are not encompassed by sight or smell, touch or hearing. I believe you call it a 'sixth sense.' I am surprised a foreigner like you would think of such things. From what I have been told, you alchemists are ignorant in so many, many ways."

Mustang shrugged off the derisive comment, his excitement growing. "Would it be possible for me to learn this technique?"

He heard a slight swish of silk. "I am unsure. That depends entirely on you."

"When can we get started?"

"Now, I suppose."

"_Now_?" He was incredulous. Master Hawkeye forced him to read countless texts before he allowed Roy to even _think_ of transmuting anything.

"Yes," she said simply. "If I am going to teach you to sense things you spent your entire life ignoring, we had better start working as soon as possible."

"But I have wor-" Mustang stopped short as he realized what he was about to say. No, signing orders was not high on his priority list at the moment. Not when the possibility of recovering his sight – or something like it – was so tantalizingly close. "Tell me what I need to do."

He heard two soft thumps as Suyin placed a foot on either arm of his chair.

Mustang leaned back, away from her. "W- What are you doing?"

"Teaching you."

"Is it necessary for you to …?" He could not bring himself to say 'straddle me' aloud. Despite his many reported exploits – both fictional and non – with women, he was not accustomed to such forward behavior in his office. Not that he hadn't daydreamed of a few illicit acts on his desktop with a certain officer from time to time…

"Ugh, you Amestrians and your personal space." He heard papers shift on his desk as she scooted closer. Her feet did not move from their position on the arms of his chair. "Yes, for an infant such as yourself, it is necessary for me to be close. Otherwise, it will be difficult for me to know if you sense the Dragon's Pulse."

"Dragon's… Pulse?"

Suyin made a groaning noise. "I thought you have done research on alkahestry. Now you tell me I need to teach you _everything_?"

"Well," he replied gruffly. "I'm a fast learner."

She made a sound like she was sucking through her teeth. "We shall see." Her voice took on a lecturing tone. "The Dragon's Pulse is the energy that flows through all living things, which we call ki. We use this energy to perform alkahestry. The fact that ki flows like a river around and between life forms allows us to act from afar. Because this energy comes from living beings, we may even manipulate the human form – something you alchemists still struggle to accomplish." She did not try to hide the contempt in her voice.

Mustang leaned forward. "Like healing?" He had been amazed by the medicinal alkahestry performed on Hawkeye.

"Amongst other things. But you cannot manipulate energy if you cannot sense it. That is what we will attempt today."

He nodded. "Okay. What do I need to do?"

"The first step in alkahestry is to clear your mind. You will never hear the Dragon's Pulse if you think too much." He felt Suyin's hands grasp his face, her fingers pressing against his cheeks and temples. Mustang jumped at the unexpected touch.

"What are you doing now?"

"Helping you clear your mind," she replied abrasively. Then, as an afterthought, she added, " I think."

"What do you mean 'you think?'" He froze. "Wait, have you ever done this before?"

"Teach alkahestry to an alchemist? No."

Mustang jerked his head backwards, away from her hands. "Just what kind of alkahestry teacher are you, then?"

_What was Madam Christmas thinking, sending this woman?_

"The only kind you are going to get." He heard Suyin's fingers snap on either side of his face, which he took as a sign of impatience. "Look, I know alkahestry. I owe Madam Christmas a favor. So you are stuck with me. And I am stuck with you." She huffed. "Now stop complaining and start concentrating." Suyin forcefully grasped Mustang's head again, digging two fingers into each temple.

"I thought I was supposed to be 'clearing my mind,'" he grumbled. This was ridiculous.

"That too."

"How am I supposed to be doing _both_ at the same time?"

"You can only feel the Dragon's Pulse if you _do_ both." Suyin made a sound that fell somewhere between a groan and a growl. "I knew this would be impossible. You Amestrians. Energy is flowing all around you, and you purposefully ignore it like petulant children."

He was about to retort when he heard the sound of his office door opening. He recognized Hawkeye's voice immediately. "Sir, I have those reports -" The Captain stopped short as she took in the sight of Mustang and the strange woman that practically sat on his lap, grasping his head. Mustang swatted Suyin's hands away hastily. "Excuse me, Sir. Was I… interrupting something?" Hawkeye's voice was dangerously cold.

"Captain, I -"

"I'll just leave these here," she cut in smoothly. He heard her slam the stack of papers on a desk near the door. Her booted feet scraped against the rough timber floor as she turned to leave.

"Wait, Captain, I can explain." Mustang rose from his chair, hastily rounding his desk. He stumbled as his hip knocked against the corner.

"No need, Sir," she replied curtly. "I'll return later to read the reports to you."

"Damn it, Hawkeye…" He lunged forward, arm outstretched in a lame attempt to grab her arm. He knew it was hopeless – he was far too slow and far too blind to even attempt the feat. Yet inconceivably – impossibly – when he reached forward, his hand found hers. It fell perfectly: palm against palm. He wrapped his fingers around it, grateful for whatever luck guided his aim. Her hand felt warm and comfortable in his. "I said stop."

Hawkeye's fingers twitched in his grip. "What you do on your own time is no business of mine," she said coolly. "But I would remind you, _Sir_, that things are quite delicate at the moment. We cannot afford _distractions_." She yanked her hand away and stalked down the hall without another word.

Mustang cursed. Why did this always happen to them? Just when he began the slow aching process of drawing her back to him, another incident interceded, driving a wedge between them. They were like two magnets: at one moment, inexorably drawn together, and at another, diametrically opposed.

He rounded on Suyin, ready to lecture her about ground rules if he was to be under her tutelage. But his words faltered in his throat when his new teacher's voice sounded from right beside him. In his frantic efforts to stop Hawkeye, he had not even heard Suyin approach.

"How did you do that?" The Xingese woman sounded thoughtful. Curious, even.

Mustang paused, confused. "How did I do what?"

Suyin ignored his question. "Perhaps you will not be impossible to teach after all."

"Gee." He rubbed his eyes. "Thanks for your vote of confidence." He was shaken by the Brantly incident, his new teacher spoke in riddles, and now he had an enraged Captain on his hands.

_Why, Ishval?_ He thought bitterly. _Why do you always strive to undo me?_

* * *

><p>Red eyes followed Hawkeye as she strode out of headquarters. The Captain seemed upset about something – her steps fell angrily on the wooden path.<p>

Ashika chuckled. It was time to strike at Mustang's heart. Now, while things were still unsettled from her little trick with Cadet Brantly. He had merely been an experiment for her: a way to test the full power of the Philosopher's stone. The outcome was just as she anticipated. She was ready to proceed.

Captain Hawkeye rounded the corner of the building, her hair briefly reflecting the bloodred light of the setting sun.

_Tonight General_, Ashika promised. _Tonight I start my revenge._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, no more OCs. Probably. Most likely. Perchance. May… nope. I can make no promises, for I have no intention of keeping them. Sorry that there were a lot this chapter. I personally don't like OCs, so it's perplexing how quickly I seem to be accumulating them (necessary evil?).**

**Thanks for the reviews! You guys rock my world. It's pretty cool that people actually read stuff I write down. Gives me the warm fuzzies.**

**Next Chapter: Gag**


	9. Gag

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 9: Gag ( / găg / )**

**1. **_**noun**_** - the sound of choking or retching**

**2. **_**noun - **_**an obstacle to or a censoring of free speech**

**3. **_**noun**_** - something forced into or put over the mouth to prevent speaking or crying out**

* * *

><p><strong>Warning<strong>**: There is more violence in this chapter than what is typical in the story thus far. No more than an action-laden episode/issue of FMA. It should still fall under the "T" rating.**

* * *

><p>"Oh God." Breda suppressed another retch as his stomach threatened to empty itself for the third time that night. He groaned. It seemed the Braak flu had come to claim him at last. The illness had slowly made its way up the ranks of soldiers. Just yesterday, poor Fuery vomited spectacularly on the office floor. Breda wished he could be in his room preparing for what was sure to be a turbulent course. Unfortunately, he had work to do; his illness would have to wait for the moment.<p>

"You sure you're gonna make it?" Falman asked, eyeing Breda skeptically. Despite his words of concern, the gray-haired man inched away. By his own fastidious nature, Falman was petrified of germs.

"Urg," Breda replied as another regurgitant heave threated to escape.

"Quiet. Both of you." Miles said sharply. "And get down."

There was good reason for silence. According to Miles' informant, the Ishvalan resistance group planned to meet in the ruins tonight. General Mustang assigned Breda, Falman, and Miles to stake out the alleged meeting location. They were to make no contact; their mission was to observe only. The threesome was currently positioned on the roof of an old abandoned building – a perfect location for viewing the reported hideout.

"You think they'll show?" Breda whispered. He shifted as his stomach rumbled again.

"Of course they will," Miles replied, his tone muted. "I trust my informant absolutely."

Breda and Falman exchanged dark looks. The anonymity of this Ishvalan mole was still a sore topic. Miles remained tight-lipped about the informant's identity, claiming 'his man' preferred to work only through the Major. In a way, Mustang and his contingent were at the Miles' mercy: All their information on the resistance came through him. Breda hated using a secondary source; they had no means of verifying its credibility. He shook his head. He did not like putting all his eggs in one proverbial basket.

"Just what is this 'resistance' group's shtick?" Breda groused. "Walking around with those armbands of theirs like they own the place. What are they so mad about, anyway? Mustang has practically thrown the reins at the Ishvalan leadership. They're involved in every part of the reconstruction. What more could they want?"

"You know very well their grievance stems from the past," Miles replied softly. "Giving them what they want now will not remedy the situation."

"Of course I know that," Breda shot back. "But the General has – "

"You put much stock in this General of yours." Miles peered at Breda over the tops of his glasses. "Do you truly have so much faith in his decisions?"

"Do we believe in Mustang?" Breda frowned, wondering where this was going. "Of course we do. We wouldn't be here otherwise." Falman nodded curtly in agreement.

"Mustang still has much to learn about the Ishvalan people," Miles replied mildly. "Reading a few books does not qualify him as an expert. Did you ever consider that he may not fully grasp the situation here? That he may not be the Golden General you all dream him to be?"

Breda scowled. "Did _you_ ever consider giving him a chance?"

"Breda," Falman warned.

"No," Breda snapped. "This asshole has been on Mustang's case since we got here." His voice rose. "Look, _Major_, I know you Briggs people have a thing for that model soldier, woman general and all, but you work for Mustang now. He may not always seem like it, but he cares deeply about this project. Sure, he's got baggage – we all do. But you can't change the past. He's trying to make the future better for all of us. That's why we follow him. We'd go to hell and back for him, if that's what it took."

Miles sat silent, scrutinizing Breda with his impassive, crimson eyes. "I know."

"And another thing…. Huh?" Breda stumbled, flummoxed.

"I am no stranger to loyalty. I can see you believe in him – his ideals – and I respect it," Miles replied. "But part of following a leader is also questioning his judgment. Mustang is only as strong as the weakest person on his team. And the advice they give him."

Breda nodded dumbly. As always, the Ishvalan Major stated the harsh truth, plainly and without decoration. Miles had a point. The Ishvalan war forged the Flame Alchemist, and in the process it nearly broke the man that bore the title. Mustang was inherently biased; the memories of what he had done to the people here could blind him to the truth. He _did _need his team – now more than ever. Their responsibility was to support and counsel him as best they could.

Breda glanced at the Major through the corner of his eye. He wondered what put the notion in the Major's head. Considering the strict, hierarchical structure at Briggs, he had a hard time picturing Miles questioning _any_ of General Armstrong's orders.

"I must admit though," Miles continued. "Mustang does seem to have the best interests of the Ishvalan people in mind." He paused, as though considering his words carefully. "I do believe he is beginning to grow on me."

Breda snorted at the unenthusiastic praise. "He's a good man. You'll see."

Despite his words, Breda's mind strayed to the incident with Brantly earlier that day. He had never seen Mustang so unhinged. The look in his eyes was almost feral. Breda could hardly reconcile the snarky, smirking General with the man he saw in the tent, vengefully choking a defenseless cadet. Mustang looked ready to kill. Thank goodness Hawkeye was there to dispel the situation. She always knew what to do where Mustang was concerned.

"I see activity," Miles whispered. "Take your positions."

Breda and Falman scurried to the other end of the roof, keeping low under the wall that encircled it. They had carved some holes through the parapet earlier that evening that allowed them to view the street without detection. Breda peered through the opening. After a few still moments, he saw a slight movement in the shadows.

"Target spotted," Falman breathed.

"Yeah. I see him, too," Breda replied. "Any visual confirmation that he's part of the resistance?"

"He's still too concealed. The shadows… wait!" Falman paused as the Ishvalan stepped into the rising moonlight. "Affirmative – he's wearing the symbol."

Breda squinted. Sure enough, the man wore a white armband; the red-embroidered triqueta symbol was just barely discernible. The two lieutenants watched in silence as the man made his way to the suspected hideout.

"Well, looks like Miles' intel was accurate," Breda said.

"Yes. Now what?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"Well," Falman said slowly. "What do we plan to do with this information? Surely the General wouldn't… you know, 'take care of them.' I mean, the resistance hasn't really done anything…"

"Yet," Breda added tersely.

Falaman shrugged uncomfortably. "It's just… it seems wrong."

"What seems wrong?"

"I've been thinking about it. In a way, _we_ were a resistance movement only a few months ago. You, me, Mustang and the others, I mean. We were fighting against tyranny. We were united by something we believed in. It just seems wrong to try to prevent others from doing the same."

Breda froze. The parallels _were_ uncomfortably similar. He had never thought of it that way.

"I dunno," Falman continued. "The General's outburst today… It just made me nervous. I've never seen him so…"

"Yeah," Breda agreed. "I hate to admit it, but Miles was right earlier. We'll just keep an eye on him. Be there for him."

Falman nodded.

The two hunkered down on the rooftop. There was still work left tonight; they needed an estimate of the number of individuals involved in the resistance for their report tomorrow. Breda's stomach rumbled in protest.

This was already looking to be a long night.

* * *

><p><em>Why can't I stop thinking about it?<em>

Riza sat at a wooden table in her tiny quarters, her hands draped on either side of an open book illuminated by a single lantern. She spent the last hour trying to read the same sentence, her eyes listlessly trailing over the words. She shifted, sweat beading on her brow. Some of the day's heat still lingered in the nighttime air. She had long ago removed her coat and holster, draping them over a nearby chair, but her turbulent emotions still warmed her cheeks.

_That woman he was with… Another tryst in a long line of trysts. Why should I care?_

Since she left Mustang's office, she had busied herself with near-desperate fervor. She found herself at the firing range first. Usually, a few rounds calmed and focused her mind. But today her aim was off, her hands unsteady. She had been ashamed to retrieve her paper target at the end of the session; the wide spray of bullet holes only served as evidence of her undoing. Afterward, she immersed herself in paperwork, hoping the tedium would somehow distract her from the strange, conflicting feelings that pounded at her chest. Yet no matter how many forms she filled, her mind inevitably strayed to her superior officer.

_What was he thinking? Doesn't he know he can't afford to be distracted at a time like this?_

The memory of seeing him with the woman sent an unpleasant feeling roiling through her stomach. A Xingese by her appearance, the woman had a wild, exotic beauty about her – something Mustang usually looked for in his occasional flings. She was dressed entirely in silk, cut low and alluring over a rather ample bosom. In truth, she was no different from any other woman he courted in the past. Riza shook her head firmly. Why had she reacted that way? Over the years, she saw countless ladies hang from his arm – how was this one any different from the rest?

_What does it matter to me how he spends his time?_

A floorboard creaked in the nearby bedroom. Riza ignored the sound; the hastily-built officers' quarters routinely made noises as the wood continued to settle. Her racing mind was far too full of tumultuous emotions and unpleasant speculations.

_So what if he has a new wh-_

Riza's thoughts halted as a sudden feeling crept down the back of her neck. It was a familiar sensation; one that a seasoned war veteran would not – and should not – ignore. It was the feeling one gets when in imminent danger. Her hand darted to the shoulder holster that hung within easy reach on the nearby chair.

She felt a something hard and solid wrap around her neck, tightening painfully along her windpipe. Her hand halted in midair, hovering mere inches from her weapon. An unrelenting force pulled her flush against the back of her chair. A high, cold voice sounded from behind her. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Captain."

Riza stiffened in alarm, one hand reaching up to pry at the thing around her neck, the other desperately groping for her handgun. It was just out of reach. The handle glowed teasingly in the flickering lantern light. She strained forward, her fingers barely brushing against the cool metal as the grip on her throat tightened. Riza's breaths came in painful gasps as her other hand scrabbled uselessly against the thing that slowly tightened around her throat. It felt like unyielding stone under her fingers.

"I said _don't move_." The voice was high pitched and thin, holding an air of bitter malice.

"Who are you?" Riza croaked. She shifted slightly in her seat, hoping to somehow loosen the tight hold. The thing encircling her neck squeezed briefly, clamping off her air supply. Riza sputtered and coughed, panic beginning to well in her chest.

"I can and I will break your neck, Captain," the voice hissed behind her. "As for who I am, it is irrelevant to you. Just know that you are simply a tool to me. A means to an end."

Riza dropped her hands. There was no way she would reach her gun at this point. She hoped the attacker might take it as a sign of resignation – maybe it would buy Riza some time. Internally, her thoughts raced. She had another gun strapped to her calf. If she was lucky, she might be able to ease her hand down to grab it. She just needed to create a distraction. "What do you want from me?"

"It's quite simple, Captain. I need you to suffer. And I need Mustang to see it."

Riza's fingers inched toward her concealed weapon. She would only have once chance at this. _Just keep talking,_ her panicked mind urged. "What does he have to do with me?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Captain. I have seen the two of you together." The grip around her neck tightened briefly, as though teasing her. "He's a fool if he thinks he can hide it. The man is in love with you."

Riza's heart lurched painfully. The cold untruth of it cut her to the core. Mustang could never love her – the woman in his office today way proof enough of that. "The General is a soldier," she gasped. Her hand dropped lower; it was now agonizingly close to her gun. "He wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice the one for the many." If she just shifted her leg back a bit more…

The attacker sighed. "Captain, if you think I am going to allow you to pull the pistol you have secreted away, you are sorely mistaken."

Knowing she had only moments to react, Riza's hand shot to her calf, grasping for her firearm. As her fingers met the warm metal, a flash of red light filled her vision. Suddenly, she felt something wrap about her limbs; it pulled them securely against the armrests and legs of her chair. The bindings tightened painfully. She looked down to see her limbs encircled by wood; it flowed like water from the floorboards. Riza recognized alchemy when she saw it. The attacker had transmuted the material to serve as makeshift shackles – a complicated equation for even the most skilled alchemists. But that wasn't the reason why Riza's eyes widened in fear.

_Transmutation without a circle!_

She heard the sound of soft footfalls behind her as her attacker rounded her chair. Though she knew it was fruitless, Riza struggled against her bindings. They held as firm as the wood from which they were made.

Her attacker stepped into view. The figure was cloaked, its build profoundly slight – almost birdlike. Riza could not see its face, hidden by a deep hood. It seemed impossible that one so small was capable of such power. _A girl_, Riza concluded mentally, _based on the height and voice. Perhaps close to Edward's age – practically a child. But what kind of girl is this? So young, yet can transmute with such skill_.

Her heart fluttered inside her chest. The girl had mentioned the General – what did she intend?

Riza felt panic overtake her as her thoughts strayed, unbidden, to a white room where Lust stood triumphant before her. Riza struggled against the waves of memory as they crashed over her, threatening to unseat her from reality. She had not been there to protect him on that day, and she had nearly lost him. She would not let that happen again. She could not let another hurt him. Not alone – not without her. She desperately suppressed the terror that welled inside her.

She had to remain calm if she wanted to protect him.

"What do you want with the General?" Riza kept her voice steady. It would be useless to let the girl know her fear. She sat as straight as possible in her seat, staring pointedly at her attacker.

"What do I want?" The girl laughed, her voice taking on a hysterical air. "I want him to suffer as I have suffered." She raised one hand to pull back her cowl.

After years serving as the Flame Alchemist's bodyguard and aide, Riza was intimately aware of what fire could do to human skin. She herself had endured the terrible pain Mustang inflicted on his victims. She knew burns when she saw them. The girl's scars were amongst the worst Riza had seen; they obliterated any feature that made her human. The poor creature was unspeakably disfigured, and Riza knew who was to blame.

The girl smirked at Riza's horrified expression. The scars that covered her face contorted grotesquely, somehow forming an even more revolting mask. "So now you know, Captain. You see how he marked me. None can look at me without revulsion. I am hideous because of him." The girl's eyes burned with hatred. "How do you feel about your beloved Mustang now?"

Riza swallowed thickly. She was a military-trained woman; she would not be baited. She needed to collect as much information about this girl as possible. "You must be with the Ishvalan resistance," she said, testing a theory.

The girl laughed. The childlike sound seemed odd coming from one so scarred. "With the resistance? Those visionless fools? No, Captain, I don't give a _shit_ about them or _any_ of those stinking refugees. This is between me and Mustang."

Another clue to file away for later. She hoped there would be a later. Riza frowned, taking in the girl's red eyes. "You're an Ishvalan. Don't you care about your people?"

"My _people_?" The girl sneered. "My people left me and my brother to die – mere children – in the ruins! They forgot about me. Your precious Flame Alchemist forgot about me." Her tiny hands balled into fists. "But I will make sure they always remember the name Ashika. Even if I need to carve it into their very hearts."

_So she's driven by vengeance_, Riza thought. A dangerous and unstable motivation at best.

"Enough talk," Ashika said. "It is time to get to business." The girl reached into the recesses of her cloak and drew forth a cloth. She stepped towards Riza. "Now, hold still Captain." She raised the cloth to Riza's face.

Riza jerked her head away instinctively. The girl's scarred visage twisted in fury.

"I said _hold still_." Ashika sent a resounding blow across the Captain's face. Riza tasted the tang of blood.

Ashika hastily stuffed the cloth in Riza's mouth and tied it tightly at the nape of her neck. Riza coughed as the gag forced her tongue to the back of her throat; she could barely breathe around the thing.

"Now, let's get you to a place where I can do my work," Ashika said, her eyes scanning the apartment. "Ah, I think the bed will do nicely." The girl moved her hand in a sweeping motion, followed by a flash of red light. Riza felt the wooden bindings lift her from the chair. Another hand motion from Ashika sent Riza sailing towards her bedroom.

Riza's body slammed onto the bed, the springs creaking in protest. She struggled to breathe around the gag as Ashika shoved her face into the pillow. Her hair came loose from its clip, splaying across her face. The bindings tightened painfully around her wrists and ankles, pulling her arms and legs taught and outstretched against the mattress. Riza uttered a soft whimper as she struggled weakly against her bonds. They were so tight, it felt like she might pull her arms from their sockets if she fought too much.

And suddenly Ashika was on top of her back, her thin legs straddling Riza's hips. Riza glimpsed a brief flash of metal out of the corner of her eye. _A knife!_ She felt its cold harness against the nape of her neck and heard the sound of ripping fabric as Ashika sliced though the back her black undershirt.

_She's trying to see my back!_ Riza thought as she attempted to frantically buck Ashika off her hips. Her shoulders pulled painfully against the bindings. The girl remained steady, methodically slicing through the thin material. _How did she learn about my tattoo?_

Riza felt the warm night air against her bare skin as Ashika swept the shorn fabric to either side. Knowing that struggling was now futile, Riza stilled, conserving her strength. Ashika remained silent for a long moment as she took in the inky lines.

"So the nurse was right. You _do_ have a tattoo. And a transmutation circle, at that." Ashika paused as she took in the webbed scars that marred the array. "Ah - I see that monster has left his mark on you, too," she crooned. Her fingers ran over the marbled pink burns that obliterated the most crucial parts of the flame equation. Riza shuddered under the touch. "What a shame. It was such pretty alchemy before he ruined it. Is this where he learned the secrets of fire? Is this why you are shackled to that soulless demon?"

Riza remained silent, unwilling to feed Ashika's growing craze. Her hands clenched into white fists.

"But why did he burn you?" Ashika continued, her voice like silk over a blade. "Did he want you and your secrets all to himself? And why do you stay with him?" Her fingers continued to run over Riza's back, eliciting waves of revulsion in Hawkeye's stomach. "You poor thing. Let me take away his claim on you, and you will be free from him forever."

At this, Riza began to growl against the gag, her head futilely flopping against the pillow.

Ashika stroked her blonde hair. "Hush now." She said fervently. "I'm giving you something I could never have. I'm going to heal you. Don't you want to get rid of those ugly scars?"

Riza's arms strained against the bindings. The muscles in her shoulders stretched and cramped in protest. _No_, was all her panicked mind could manage. _No, no no_.

Ashika's weight left her back, and there was a soft rustling of fabric. Red light flashed against the walls. A strange stretching sensation spread over Riza's back. She felt her scars tighten uncomfortably over her shoulders. Though she could not see it, Riza knew her skin was slowly reknitting, becoming smooth. Riza's breath came in shuddering gasps as she realized that the array would be whole again – discernable to all that understood the basic language of transmutation.

It meant others could learn the horrifying destruction of flame alchemy. There could be another Flame Alchemist.

In the span of seconds, Ashika erased physical scars left by burns that had taken months to heal. Yet in doing so, she had reopened the half-healed wounds that rent Riza's soul. Hawkeye had been set free when Roy destroyed the burden she carried so long. Now that awful weight hung heavy on her conscience once more.

"That's better," said Ashika, leaning back to admire her work. The room seemed impossibly dark after the bright flash of light.

Riza merely squeezed her eyes shut, holding back the tears that welled behind her lids. Her clenched fists shook with anger and fear.

"You know, this array may be of some use to me." Ashika's hand ran down Riza's spine. "Hold still, Captain. I need to make a copy." The bed shifted as Ashika jumped lightly to the floor. Riza heard the faint shuffling of paper from her desk nearby. "I'm quite good at making copies, you know." She made a soft noise of triumph as she found a blank sheet that suited her needs. "I even fooled you idiots with a false Philosopher's stone. You really should have taken more care. That fool doctor made it all too easy for me to steal it."

Riza's eyes widened in shock. _She was the one that took the stone! That's how she can transmute without a circle!_ She felt her nails bite into her palms. So this girl was the one that robbed Mustang of his chance at sight. She was the reason why he remained so weak and powerless. A terrible urge to hurt this girl rose in Riza's chest, consuming her like a raging fire. She suddenly understood the blinding rage that Mustang fought in the tunnels below Central as he faced Envy. The impulse not just to kill, but to utterly destroy.

Ashika stood beside the bed for a moment, studying the array carefully. There was a brief flash of red light as she copied the complicated diagram to the paper. She folded the sheet and tucked it deep into her robe. "There, all finished."

It seemed so wrong: How little time it took to copy such a complicated array. Riza remembered the hours of pain she endured when her father inked the tattoo on her back. She was so young, the pain nearly unendurable. Now a stranger possessed her father's secrets after only a moment's work – in a simple flash of red light.

Riza heard the soft swish of metal against fabric as Ashika drew her knife again. "Now, Captain, I'm going to leave my _own_ mark on you. You're going to help me stir things up in Ishval."

The knife flashed coldly in the pale moonlight. Riza had only a moment to draw a breath before she felt the blade bite deep into the skin of her back. She screamed, her voice muffled by the gag. She choked as she drew a ragged breath, only to scream more. She writhed against her bindings, no longer heeding the pain it caused in her arms. It was nothing compared to the bite of the blade as it slashed her back. Ashika dragged the knife across her skin, forming a pattern Riza was too agonized to know. Warm blood dripped from the wounds. It soaked into the mangled remnants of her shirt and pooled on the mattress below.

The gruesome task seemed to last forever. For a time, the only thing Riza knew was the pain of the knife as it cut through her skin. She screamed again and again into the gag, already soaked with slaver and tears. Her voice grew hoarse and her lungs spent. Soon, all she could do was moan, weakly writhing in a futile attempt to escape the unforgiving blade.

Finally, the horrible stashing stopped. Riza lay trembling and sobbing as Ashika drew away to admire her handiwork.

"Done." She sounded so proud. So accomplished.

Riza shut her eyes and prayed for an end to the agony.

"Shhhhh," Ashika soothed. "There there." Riza felt the girl dig a finger into one of the cuts in her back, sending new waves of pain through her. "I'll take it away." The girl began to trail her bloodied finger along Riza's forehead.

Riza slowly recognized the shape. _A transmutation circle!_

A bright flash of red light filled the room once more. Darkness crept into the corners of Riza's vision, and she felt herself tumbling into nothingness. As she slipped into unconsciousness, her tormented mind sent out a silent plea.

_Help me, Roy._

* * *

><p><em>He stood on a precipice. Before him spread the ruined city of Ishval. He could hear distant gunshots and screams of pain. He had been here many times before. <em>

_The gloves that sheathed his hands felt wet. Looking down, he saw they were soaked in blood. His stomach turned in revulsion. He knew it was the blood of the innocent, for he had been the one to spill it._

"_Roy." The voice that came from behind him was soft and melodic. "Roy."_

_He turned. She was there. When she came, things became peaceful. The screams went away. She banished the terrors that haunted this desolate place. She would calm him and hold him safe against her breast._

_But this time it was different. This time she was covered in blood, too._

"_Roy," she said again, stretching out her sodden arms. "Help me."_

_Red lightning flashed in the distance. The roiling clouds above were a violent, menacing yellow-black. A cruel wind whipped at his clothes._

"_Help me." Blood dripped from her fingers. The desert sand drank it greedily. Soon it was stained an ugly brown. She was going to die._

_He found himself unable to move. He strained against his unseen bindings, a feeling of panic pooling in his chest. He had to help her. He had to protect her. But his legs would not obey._

_He screamed, wordless and fierce. The wind rose in tandem, echoing his rage and drowning his cries. She merely stood, waiting with open arms. Her ochre eyes were calm. He would come to her. He would save her._

_But he did not. He could not._

_His cries turned to frustrated sobs as he saw her lifeblood fall freely to the ground._

Mustang gasped as he sat up in bed. His blind eyes blinked at the darkness, and his fingers groped at the sheets that lay soaked and tangled beneath him. He let out a shuddering sigh. _Just a dream_, he reminded himself. His nightmares had come back in force since his return to Ishval, but this one seemed particularly vivid. Even now, he could taste his fear and smell her blood. He shivered, curling his head into his knees. The night air seemed far too still compared to the roaring wind in his dreams.

He heard Hayate pad up to the side of the bed. Mustang patted the covers, and the little dog quickly jumped up next to him. He hated to admit it, but he was glad to have Hawkeye's beloved pet. The dog was helpful in a hundred little ways - a pair of eyes he could trust. Hayate whimpered, resting his head on Roy's knee. He could sense Mustang's distress. Roy scratched the canine's ears, finding some small comfort that he was not alone.

He could still see in his nightmares; how terrible that his hellish dreams replaced the sight he lost. There was no way he could sleep now. The vision of dripping blood lingered in his mind. Now he felt trapped in the darkness with only the memories as a companion. He needed to get out of this place.

Mustang threw back the covers and stepped out of bed. His hand expertly groped for his guide cane, and he quickly found his way to the closet. He dressed, adding a coat to keep out the chill night air. After a moment's hesitation, he fastened his gun holster to his belt.

"Hayate," he called. The little dog trotted up to him, nails clicking on the wooden floorboards. Roy reached down to fasten a leash to his collar.

The night was cold and utterly silent when Mustang stepped outside. _It must be well after midnight_, he thought. His state-issued pocket watch was of little use to him now. His footsteps fell heavy against the boardwalk; they seemed to echo over the still desert sands. Hayate trotted beside him, a near-silent shadow made known only by the tinkling sound of his collar.

Mustang meant to wander aimlessly. He just needed a walk to clear his head. But somehow he found himself headed in the direction of Captain Hawkeye's quarters. Even before he knew anything of nationwide transmutation circles and homunculi, her apartment was a place of solace for him. A place where he could simply be Roy and she Riza. For so many years, she was his sounding board, his most trusted friend and companion.

He missed those times.

After several days learning to navigate the hastily-constructed barracks, he knew exactly how many steps to take and where to turn to reach her flat. He moved forward with a strange confidence, somehow navigating the path as though he were no longer blind. He had come to notice such things were easier when it came to Hawkeye. While he still fumbled under Breda's guidance, the Captain's presence always made him surefooted.

Hawkeye was the only high-ranking female officer currently serving in Ishval, so her quarters were somewhat isolated from the others. Most of the buildings surrounding hers were still empty. As he approached, he heard no voices or footsteps nearby. He barely noted the quiet, so lost was he in his own thoughts. Before he realized, he stood before her door.

Hayate barked softly, sensing he was near his beloved master. Mustang jumped at the sudden noise. "Quiet, Hayate, you'll wake her up."

He had no idea what he intended to do here. Hawkeye was likely still angry after the debacle due to his new alkahestry teacher, Suyin. He was not sure if he was ready to face her just yet. Her voice had been so cold this afternoon. Cold and edged with… what? Anger? Disappointment? Jealousy? Without his sight, Hawkeye had become an emotional enigma. If only she had given him a chance to explain.

The little dog whimpered beside him, straining at the leash.

"I know, boy," Roy soothed. "You miss her, don't you?" He crouched to scratch the dog's ears. "We'll see her tomorrow, I promise."

The little dog ducked away from Mustang's hand, tugging more firmly on the leash in his efforts to reach Hawkeye's door. He began to growl.

"Hayate, no." Holding the leash firmly, Mustang reached out to catch the dog. But Hayate danced away from his hands, his growls growing louder and more menacing. "What is _with_ you, dog? Come _here_." Leaning his guide poll against his shoulder, he began to reel Hayate in by the leash, finally capturing the squirming canine in both hands. Mustang braced him, still growling, against his chest and stood to leave.

"Agh!" he roared when Hayate's teeth sank into his palm. He dropped the dog unceremoniously to the ground. He heard Hayate dart away, followed by the sound of paws scrabbling against Hawkeye's door. _The stupid mutt is going to wake her up_, Mustang thought as he sullenly nursed his throbbing hand. _I don't need this. She's angry at me as it is._

With a growl that rivaled Hayate's in its ferocity, Mustang lunged forward to recapture the little dog. Though blind, the General had gotten fairly skilled at pinpointing sound, and it only took a few swipes before his hand met fur. This time, he made sure Hayate's teeth stayed well away from him as he tucked the dog firmly under one arm. "Quiet," he hissed. Hayate refused to comply, struggling frantically in his grip, growling and snapping with alarming viciousness.

He half-expected to hear Hawkeye's door open. To hear her characteristic, exasperated sigh at being woken at such an hour. He and Hayate had certainly made enough noise to wake the war-trained Captain three times over by now. And perhaps a small part of Mustang _wanted_ her to appear – just so he could have a chance to explain what happened in the office earlier today. Besides, his nightmare tonight felt so real; the falling blood seemed so tangible. It would be a relief to hear her voice.

Yet somehow… Blessedly? Disappointingly? Her apartment remained deathly still. Roy let out a sigh as he turned to leave, Hayate still thrashing in a desperate attempt to return to his master.

For better or worse, he would see her tomorrow.

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><p><strong>AN: Reviews on this chapter in particular are much appreciated.**

**Next Chapter: Keen**


	10. Keen

**Warning: More gore in this chapter. Nothing graphic – just disturbing. I felt cruel writing this.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.<strong>

**Chapter 10****: Keen ( / k****ē****n / ) – History revealed.**

**1. **_**adj**_** - having a fine, sharp cutting edge or point**

**2. **_**adj**_** - marked by intellectual quickness and acuity**

**3. **_**adj**_** - intense; piercing**

**4. **_**noun**_** - ****a loud, wailing lament for the dead**

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><p>A cloak of silence enveloped the ruins of Ishval. It moved thickly through the streets, absorbing all sound, softly flowing over moonlit rubble. It sunk into the stones, forming a soft void where bustling feet once tread. The pavement absorbed the sound – devoured it. Just as it drank the blood of Ishvalan innocents a decade before. The walls held their own kind of quiet as well. They refused to reverberate as a girl staggered through the darkness.<p>

Ashika tottered amongst the rubble, intoxicated by the righteousness of her own violence. Hatred realized: fulfilling and pitiless. She had waited so long for this. It all seemed a wonderful, brutal dream. Yet blood dripped quietly from the edge of her knife, each stain evidence of her accomplishments. This was only the beginning. She had so much more to do.

The array burned in the pocket of her robe. She never expected to find such a gift, but he knew just what to do with it. Ashika silently prayed that Mustang would be the one to find his beloved Captain. It was only fitting. It was only just.

Her mind buzzed. Thing were moving so quickly.

She heard a soft shuffling nearby, like the sound of a wild animal, caught. She knew it well.

"Devon," she called into the night. "Where are you, my brother?" She stood at the edge of a large plaza. Avenues congested with fallen rubble led off from the square in every direction. At one time it might have been a lively market where merchants sold their wares. Now it was taken by silence, choked by dust. A giant fountain stood dry and relatively untouched at its center.

She heard the sound again, just behind the empty pool. A lanky ruin of a boy scrabbled from around fountain's wide-mouthed edge. His bloodred eyes skittered over Ashika. They were wary: the eyes of an animal. He bounced from foot to bare foot, hands fluttering restlessly at his sides.

"Come," Ashika said in the low timbre she reserved only for him. "Come, Devon." She held a hand to her brother. She noted disinterestedly that the Captain's blood still stained her fingers. Her blackened hand seemed to absorb the soft moonlight. "Come."

The Ishvanan boy shook his head, his eyes wide and confused. The tangled mass of hair that spilled down his back softly swept over each shoulder. He took a step back.

She did not have time for this. Not tonight. "Devon, _come_."

The boy cooed a wordless reply and a watery smile spread over his lips. With a garbled cry, he leapt over the edge of the fountain and into the dusty bowl. The sight of it pulled at Ashika's memory. She had seen this before. She looked on as her brother let out a screeching whoop, his bare arms spread in an unspoken entreaty to the luminous moon.

And suddenly, Ashika knew where she was. She knew this place. And she knew that she could not stay here. Not without…

_Agne_, a voice breathed. It seemed to come from just behind her shoulder.

"No," Ashika said, shaking her head. "Not now."

Devon keened a stream of jibberish, leaping and shuffling through the dust that lined the pool in frozen waves. He reached down and lifted the sand with cupped hands, spilling it over his head as a parched man would indulge in a face full of water. Ashika looked on, frozen by the memory of it.

_Agne_. The voice was achingly familiar. Her constant plague and burden all these years.

"No," she moaned as a wave of memory crashed over her, threatening to unseat her from reality.

_Agne_, a voice called from long ago. _Where are you, my love?_

Ashika cried out as a stab of pain laced through her skull. "No… stay out. Go _away_." Spots flashed bright behind her eyes.

"_Agne! Agne, where are you?"_

"_Here, mama." Agne clambered over the short wall that separated the market from the tapestry district. _

_Mother sighed in relief. "There you are, my love." She held out her free arm to her child. The other firmly braced a basket of groceries against her hip. "What were you doing over there?"_

"_I was looking at the Xingese traders." Agne skipped to her mother, love in her crimson eyes._

_Mother was a rare beauty – a flower amongst her people. It was her hair. She had lovely hair. While most Ishvalans wore shades of white, grey, or brown, Mother's shone a pale gold. Agne's father often joked that perhaps she was the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy Amestrian. But her quiet nature and true-red eyes were proof enough: Mother was an Ishvalan, through and through._

"_Where is your brother?" Mother asked, running an affectionate hand over Agne's downy mane – a disappointingly drab shade of grey._

"_He's in the fountain," Agne said, pointing to where the four-year-old brother splashed in the shallow pool._

"_Oh no," Mother chuckled. "Again?"_

"No," Ashika moaned. "Stop." The knife fell from her numb fingers as another needle of pain pierced the space between her eyes.

Devon continued to play in the sandy fountain, oblivious to his sister's distress. In his own divergent world, she often did not exist.

Ashika sunk to her knees, burdened by the weight of her own memory.

_The Ishval War was terrible. It changed everything. Even as a child she knew this._

_For Agne, the fighting meant she no longer played in the street with her brother. It meant hours huddled with her family in a secret bunker, hidden below the earthen floor of their home. It meant an empty belly and sleepless nights._

_She learned the meaning of permanence: the grave finality of death. The lesson was forced upon her. Again and again and again. The first was her uncle, a fierce warrior-monk with a kind face. Mother begged him not to leave. She demanded he stay with his family to protect them. But her pleas fell on deaf ears. Agne would never forget the way the tears wetted Mother's gilded hair as he quietly walked to war._

_Soon Agne's uncle was dead: shot through the throat by a nameless Amestrian soldier. His comrades said he died valiantly, fighting to the very end. It was of little comfort. Not when he was one of so many others. Countless others. Their desperate prayers to Ishvala went unanswered. Life became an endless string of tragedy and loss._

_Over time mother grew weary and thin. Her hands trembled and her posture drooped. She no longer laughed or smiled. Agne and her brother looked on, powerless, as the light in her crimson eyes slowly dwindled. Yet her hair remained beautiful – shining and gold. They clung to that. At times, it was all they had._

_The loss of Agne's father dealt the final blow to Mother's waning vitality. Father was not even afforded the dignity of a warrior's death. Instead, his passing was slow and agonizing. The Braak flu did not discriminate; it affected Ishvalan and Amestrian alike. But without medical supplies, food, or clean water, the illness quietly reaped though the Ishvalan encampment. It took the life of Agne's father over five long days filled with retching, fevers, and parched lips._

_Mother barely responded when Agne told her that Father was dead. She simply let out a single, heart wrenching keen, her face utterly expressionless. Agne watched helplessly as the light in her mother's eyes flickered and doused. Mother was still alive, but dead to the world: Only stirring when roused, only eating when fed. And thus she left Agne and Devon – so young and horribly alone – in an empty house seized by war and filled with corpses._

"No," Ashika whispered. "Please. I don't… I don't want to…" Pain like icy stakes stabbed into her brow. She pressed her palms against it, moaning in agony.

Devon crouched low before her, his red eyes curious and unaware. His feet were frosted in a pebbly coating of sand. He reached forward to stroke his sister's scarred, hairless head as he muttered a string of comforting gibberish.

"I don't want to… remember," she gasped.

* * *

><p>"Clear every building," clipped a voice outside. "I want no survivors."<p>

"But sir…"

Agne and Devon huddled together near the hearth. Their tiny, war-starved bodies shook with fear. The last line of Ishvalan defense broke nearly an hour ago. Amestrian soldiers poured into the emptying streets. It quickly became clear their orders were to shoot on sight. In a selfish act of survival, their Ishvalan neighbors fled, leaving the two children to fend for themselves. Agne and Devon would not have left anyway. Mother could not manage more than a shuffling walk. She would never survive the violence in the streets, and they could not leave her here to die alone. And so Agne and Devon clutched one another for comfort as their mother sat in a stupor nearby.

"Enough arguing, Flame. You have your orders. I expect results."

"Agne," Devon whispered, his tiny voice trembling. "I'm scared."

Agne shushed him and wrapped her arms around his filthy back. She pulled him close to her chest and rested her cheek on his crown. He was so little and frail and so very terrified. Boot steps rang on the streets outside. They were heavy and slow, like a solemn death knell. Agne's heart fluttered with fear. After all these painful months, death had finally come for them. She fought against the tight, choking feeling in her throat.

At least they would be together in the end.

"Agne!" Devon's voice was filled with terror. The edge in his tone startled her from her reverie. Agne looked up. Her brother pointed to the door.

Mother stood there. Agne was not sure when or how she arrived; she had not even heard Mother rise from her chair. It was the first time she had done so on her own since Father died. Mother swayed on her atrophied legs, a faraway look in her eyes. The sound of footsteps and voices grew louder, now seeming to come from just outside the house. Agne could hear the tinny noise of metal on metal; her war-trained ears knew it as the sound of someone loading a gun.

"Mama!" Agne hissed. "Mama, come back!"

"Agne," Mother whispered, her voice cracked from disuse. Agne choked at the sound of it; it was the first time she heard her mother speak in months. She did not realize how much she missed it. "Agne, where are you, my love?" Mother's distant eyes trailed over her children. She did not see them. She did not know them. "Agne? Devon?" Mother's hand slowly rose to rest on the door leading outside.

_No!_ It seemed as though her mother moved in slow motion. Her wasted hand gripped the handle and began to pull at the heavy door. Agne gasped as terror washed over her. She stumbled to her feet. Devon whimpered, clutching at his sister's ankles as her warmth and comfort left him.

Agne dared a muted shout. "Mama! Please!" She stepped forward.

What followed would forever be branded into her memory. A dazzling beam of sunlight streamed through the widening doorway. The light glinted off Mother's lovely hair, shining more brilliantly than the purest of gold. Agne froze at the sight of it. For a moment she could only gaze dumbly at the first beautiful thing she had seen in months.

Then an alarming cacophony spilled through the doorway: Voices edged with cruelty and fear.

"You there!"

"Stand down! Hands on your head!"

"What are you waiting for, Flame?"

"Stand down!"

"Just – just wait! She's unarmed!"

"Don't move! Don't move or we'll shoot!"

"On the ground!"

"Do it, Flame! Now!"

Mother's eyes slowly rose to the soldiers outside. She did not see them. "Agne?" She stretched out her arms as though to catch a tumbling child. The shouts outside intensified, taking on a spooked, frenzied tone. They told her not to move. They told her to get down. They told her things her war-sickened mind would not – could not – comprehend.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Mother lumbered forward, her arms open to the soldiers waiting on the streets below. Agne screamed and stumbled towards the door. She tripped and fell against her mother's side. Through the corner of her vision, Agne could see an indistinct blue shape. She turned her head. A man stood just outside, one gloved hand held aloft before him. Agne cried out again as she caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were hard and black and _cruel_. There was no mercy in them. There was no humanity. But his eyes widened slightly as the young girl appeared in the doorway. His fingers jerked in surprise.

They made a tiny '_snick_.'

It burned. It burned. Ishvala take her, it burned.

Agne shrieked as the flames enveloped her. Shouts sounded from the soldiers outside, and their forms blurred in a flurry of movement. Agne thrashed in a vain attempt to escape the merciless inferno. Her fire-stung eyes swung up to her mother. She stood utterly still, arms open. Her beautiful hair was aflame; the burnished gold now transformed to fiery red.

Their eyes met. Mother's were suddenly aware. "Agne," she murmured. Her soft voice cut through the roar of the flames. She reached out and wrapped her blazing arms around her daughter's thrashing body in one last mother's embrace.

Agne remembered little of what followed. She could recall only brief flashes – like pictures, wreathed in fire: Devon's too-wide eyes as he watched his sister and mother writhe like living torches... A thick, tan cloth as it enveloped Agne, damping the fire... Mother's blistered lips as she released a final, rattling breath.

And she remembered him: The man that burned her. She remembered his dark, cold eyes.

Then she knew no more.

When she awoke, it was to a world filled with pain. Her face, her arms, her body: They all screamed in unending agony. Every nerve lay exposed to the dry desert air. It stung so horribly. Agne looked up to see a woman with blue eyes and blonde hair. _An Amestrian!_ She tried to cry out – tried to move – but only managed a weak, throaty croak.

"Shh, my little one," the woman soothed. "Don't move. I know it hurts. I know." Her motherly tone… it tore at Agne's heart.

Tears welled in her lidless eyes. They dribbled down her cheeks, searing a path over the angry flesh. She saw a small flicker in the corner of her vision. She turned her head toward it; the movement tugged uncomfortably at her ruined skin. Devon hunched on a pallet nearby, his thin arms wrapped tightly around his legs. By some miracle, her brother was alive and seemingly unharmed. He rocked back and forth in silence and his large red eyes stared without blinking.

Agne sighed and sank back into peaceful oblivion.

Days of painful dressing changes and fitful sleep followed. She lost sense of time and place. Infection took hold of her and she burned with fever. She did not know for how long. Agne's crowded world only had room for the unending pain and the memory of her mother's voice. She had terrible dreams filled with coal-black eyes and raging fires. After many days (weeks? months?) Agne's fever broke and she grew strong enough to sit up. She realized she was in a makeshift hospital, run by a pair of Amestrian doctors.

Through it all, Devon never spoke. He simply rocked and stared. His mind retreated to a faraway place where there was no fear or pain. Devon had become like Mother: awake but not aware, alive but not living.

Agne was not fully recovered when the Ishvalan man attacked. Medics had brought him to the hospital the day before, unconcious. His face was rent down the center by a horrible burn. They were running low on supplies; there were no more analgesics or sedatives to spare. The man cried out in confusion, calling for his brother. Agne rose weakly from her pallet and watched the man struggle to rise. Devon moved to her side without a word. Pain-crazed and disoriented, the Ishvalan warrior-monk killed the kind Amestrian doctors. Agne, Devon, and the other patients scattered as the man destroyed the medical tent in an insane, righteous fury.

Agne fled into the abandoned city, her brother's hand clutched in hers. Stained bandages streamed like banners from her body. The sounds of gunshots rang distant over the desert sands. They ran together – as far and as fast as they could. Agne refused to rest in spite of her broken body and aching chest. She had to find safety. She would not lose Devon. Not now. They ran until their lungs were spent and their legs numb. Then they ran more.

They slowed when they reached the outskirts . The land there was oddly sloped; the ground sounded hollow beneath their pounding feet. They found the sinkhole soon after; a narrow cave led deep underground and then – mercifully – they heard the sound of trickling water.

They survived there together, hidden beneath the streets of Ishval. The water was clean and sometimes – if they were lucky – they found an occasional fish. Agne soon discovered which insects staved hunger and which left them with a bellyache. Over weeks, the fighting slackened. The sound of gunfire ebbed. And, after two long weeks of relative peace, the Amestrian soldiers left in their motor cars and wagons. They abandoned the few Ishvalans that remained scattered and hungry in the ruined city. Agne quickly learned how to protect her brother from the wild, half-starved children left to die in the rubble.

Months passed. Perhaps years. It was difficult to tell in the unchanging desert. Agne and Devon never grew; their bodies remained childlike and small. Soon, Agne only remembered the sound of desert winds and the whispered memory of her mother's voice.

Agne was foraging for desert roots when she ran across the group of Xingese traders. At first she though it was a mirage; it had been ages since she saw another human besides her brother or the other Lost Children. They were mounted on camels and dressed in silks. Wide-brimmed hats shaded their faces from the beating sun. One of them – a woman – guided her camel forward. She had black hair and dark sloe eyes. She said something in a language Agne did not understand.

The Ishvalan girl shook her head, shrinking away. Her eyes strayed to where Devon hid in the rubble nearby. He was out of sight.

The woman spoke again in a thick accent. "What are you doing here, child?"

Agne made to run, but a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. She looked up to see a Xingese man. His cold, slanted eyes brought forth memories of inescapable flames. She shrieked, uselessly batting her tiny fist against his chest. At the sound of her voice, Devon scrambled from his hiding place, his eyes wild and chest heaving.

The woman on the camel shouted a harsh command in Xingese. The man released her, and Agne stumbled away from him. Devon appeared at Agne's side, wordless and soundless as always. His hand found hers.

The woman regarded the siblings with her dark, wise eyes. "Are you two alone?"

Agne nodded.

"No parents?"

She shook her head.

"What is your name?"

Agne opened her mouth. No sound came out. It was months since she last spoke. She tried again. "Agne," she croaked.

The woman nodded. She looked at Devon. "And how are you called, boy?" Devon shrunk away, his too-wide eyes skittering with fear.

"He's Devon," Agne answered for him.

"He is mute?"

Agne nodded.

"You have been burned," the woman observed, as if she were talking about the weather or recent prices at the market. "I can sense the violence of war in you."

Agne did not know how to respond to this strange, perceptive woman. There was something soothing about her. The girl simply nodded, her hand wrapped securely around Devon's.

"I once had a child like you," the woman said sadly. She dismounted her camel and held out her hand. "My name is Jiao. Come."

Agne did not know why she trusted this woman. Perhaps she filled a void in her life; a place left empty when Mother died. She took the woman's hand.

"I will look after you now."

And so it was that she and her brother traveled across the endless desert sands under the guardianship of a kind stranger. They arrived in Xing a month later.

It was there that Agne learned of alkahestry.

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><p>Ashika. The name meant knife, blade, keen. She discovered it in an ancient alkahestry text. Ashika was a legend – a pioneer of her time. A woman that performed countless experiments to forward the understanding of how chi flows through the brain. Agne spent hours reading the tome, absorbing the astounding genius of Ashika's masterwork<p>

Ashika's teachings whispered secrets to Agne's starved heart. Perhaps her brother's condition was not permanent. Perhaps she could heal him – draw him out from the quiet world he inhabited. He would not have to live docile as Mother had. And perhaps Agne could rid herself of the memory. Mother's voice still plagued her. She dreamed of it nearly every night. At times, it came to her during the day, unseating her from reality.

Agne spent countless nights in the library secretly paging through Ashika's book. Her fervent, desperate mind refused her rest. The crumbling pages held hope for both of them. Devon was the only person in this world she loved. Agne felt so hopelessly, desperately alone. She wanted to hear his voice. She wanted to stop hearing Mother's.

_And perhaps_, said a quiet whisper from a dark corner of her mind, _perhaps_ _you can find a way to destroy him._

Him.

_Him_.

The dark-eyed man for whom hate slowly quickened in her heart.

"Why are you not in bed?" Jiao snapped from somewhere over her shoulder. Agne jumped as her alkahestry teacher materialized from the shadows that stretched between bookcases. Jiao's eyes trailed down to the tome that lay open before her student. She gasped as she recognized the writings. "What is that?" She reached over the slight Ishvalan girl to slam the tome shut. "You should not be reading this," she hissed. "This is evil. A sin against alkahestry."

"But… Teacher – " Agne began, angry tears pricking her eyes.

"No, Agne," Jiao said. Her dark eyes flashed. "You are too eager. Your hunger to learn is too strong. Alkahestry is not meant for such things. Ashika had no mercy for others. Her teachings are wrong – twisted. I will not have my pupil reading such things."

Resentment rose in Agne, hot and unforgiving. "No, Teacher! This can be used for good. It could help Devon!"

"When I agreed to take you on as a student, you promised to respect and obey me," Jiao reminded her. "I took you and your brother into my home. I treat you as my own. Now, return to your room. You will not seek this knowledge again."

Agne slumped away, anger roiling through her. She was tired of Teacher holding her back. She worked so much harder than the other alkahestry students. She was more clever, more astute. She was _better_ than them, and they knew it. Her classmates glared at her with hatred and jealousy as she proved – time and again – that she was their superior in every way. Agne grew to hate their dark, slanted eyes – so much like those of the man that scarred her. She hated the way their gaze lingered on her ruined face.

Agne remembered the first time she glimpsed her scars in one of Jiao's mirrors. She retched at the sight of the lidless, hairless monster that peered back at her. She was hideous. Barely even a girl. Jiao could do nothing to heal the mutilated flesh.

At least she had her alkahestry. It made her feel powerful.

Ashika.

Knife, blade, keen.

The name turned over and over in her mind. There had to be a way. A way to save Devon. A way to save herself. A way to destroy _him_. She returned to her studies with new fervor. Ashika's teachings were her guide. She no longer had access to her writings, but Agne remembered enough to begin experimenting. She caught mice in the field outside Jiao's home and manipulated the chi in their tiny brains. The work was exhausting, frustrating, and – at times – gruesome. On some days Agne's transmutations slipped. The little mouse in her hands would let out an alarming squeak, shudder, and die. At other times the results were more horrifying: the mouse's beady eyes would bleed or it would bite out its own tongue. On one occasion the rodent's head exploded. Agne did not transmute for days afterwards.

But she carried on. She would be as hard as a blade, her mind as keen as a knife. She would be like Ashika. For Devon. For her. For _him_.

Jiao took note of her student's darkening heart. At times, the Xingese woman refused to answer Agne's probing questions. "I worry about you," Jiao said. "I do not like what I sense in you. Take care Agne. Take care." On some days, Agne caught her teacher regarding her with dark, knowing eyes. They seemed to pierce her through, unfurling her secrets, and Agne's soul shrank away. She grew to resent her teacher. How _dare_ she hold her back? How _dare_ she keep knowledge from her? It was unforgivable.

Finally, after months of study and experimentation, Agne felt ready. She took Devon to a quiet place outside the city and traced a circle on her brother's brow. She soothed and murmured to him as she placed her hands on either side of his head.

She did not mean for it to happen. It was an accident. She never meant to hurt him. She loved him. She _loved_ him. He was the only one she had.

His agonized cry cut her like a steely knife.

They banished her. Cast her out. She had performed an unforgivable sin. Agne remembered Jiao's angry, tearful eyes as they dragged her and Devon out of the city in shame.

And so she and her brother fled Xing: Lost, unwanted children ruined by war. The seeds of hatred took root in Agne's broken heart. She swore she would carry on. She vowed to remake herself. She would become a living weapon – as keen and deadly as a blade.

She would be Ashika.

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><p>Ishval lay quiet under the streaming moonlight. The beams fell over the rubble, casting shadows against the pavement. The glow had a cold clarity to it; it revealed a truth unseen by the noontime sun. The moonlight fell on two Ishvalan children huddled amongst the rubble.<p>

Soft, keening wails dispelled the silence that once lay thick in the plaza. The cries spoke of loss and regret, loneliness and misery. As they rose, another voice joined it, lower, wordless, and garbled. Together they formed a heartbreaking melody. Though the rest of Ishval remained blanketed in a mantle of quiet, in this place the mournful cries of brother and sister cast the silence away.

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><p><strong>AN: So there it is. Now you know. Holy hand grenades, this was hard to write. I was/am/always will be terrified to publish this chapter for many, many reasons. **

**Stay with me, folks. There is a plan. It's all here: in my outline. It told me to write this, so I did. **

**And nothing else.**

**Thanks for the reviews and support! It means a lot!**

**Next Chapter: Clap**

**(Yes, we will find out what happens to Riza. But do you ****really**** want to know? :-O)**


	11. Clap

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 11: Clap**

**1) _noun_ - the sharp abrupt sound produced by striking the hands together**

**2) _verb _- to strike lightly with an open hand**

**3) _verb _- to contrive or put together hastily **

**4) _noun _- a sudden action or mishap**

* * *

><p>"Did I do it?"<p>

"Not even close."

Suyin suppressed a snort as Mustang's expression soured beneath her hands. He huffed. "I was _sure_ I felt something that time."

"Nope. Nothing. All in your imagination."

"You're _not_ helping." Mustang's blank eyes trailed up in her direction. "Maybe we should try something else."

Suyin released his head. He was right – this technique did not seem to be working. It was not for lack of trying. She just could not get… in. There was something about the blankness of his eyes that prevented her from guiding him to the Dragon's Pulse. She would have to think on that. "It will take time and patience to sense chi. It will not happen in one day."

Mustang rubbed at his temples, where the marks of Suyin's fingers lingered in sharp relief against his pale skin. "I don't _have_ time."

"Or patience, it seems."

It was still very early; the sun had not yet peaked the horizon and only a few soldiers stirred on the streets below. The General asked her to meet him this morning to continue his training. He seemed eager to learn alkahestry, his mouth set in a determined line as he attempted to sense the Pulse. They worked for nearly two hours thus far, Mustang growing more and more frustrated with each failed attempt. Suyin sensed something was amiss with him. Dark circles smudged the space below his eyes and he seemed unable to focus. Sweat beaded on his brow.

"We shall stop for the morning," Suyin said, sliding off his desk.

Mustang shook his head. "No. Let's try it again."

Suyin frowned at him. _Stubborn._ The man would run himself ragged. His assignment in Ishval wore on him already – it was plain to her discerning eye. His clothes hung loose off his shoulders, hinting at a sudden, recent weight loss. His face was haggard, bespeaking of sleepless nights. What was more, she could _feel_ his exhaustion. His spirit seemed weaker today, his eyes dull. His chi tasted dark and sickening. "Do you alchemists not know the proper order of things? I am your teacher, and I say we are done."

"I say we're not."

She resisted the urge to cuff the back of his head like the petulant child he was. This General had no manners. But she knew that even the most chastising of slaps would not affect him. He was far too obstinate and self-possessed. Force never swayed men like Mustang. Fortunately, Suyin knew how to divert even the most stubborn of breeds. She was an expert at manipulating men. Indeed – like Madame Christmas – it was her profession. What she needed now was a distraction. And she knew just the thing: it hung innocently from Mustang's belt.

"What's this?" she said as she deftly pulled his gun from its holster.

"Hey!" Mustang blindly groped for the pistol. "Give that back!"

"Hmmm," Suyin stepped just out of his reach and studied the weapon. "A 0.45 caliber, correct?" She hefted it in one hand. "This gun is too light for you, no?"

Mustang stilled, his expression suddenly wary. "Yes… how – ?"

"Excellent workmanship." Suyin pulled back the slide, noting the empty chamber. _Odd to carry an unloaded weapon_. "Custom?"

His blank eyes glittered in a guarded sort of way. "Yes."

Suyin watched the General's expression carefully. "This gun was made for a woman."

There it was. His carefully poised face cracked – just a little. Through the rift, Suyin saw how her words affected him. He did not want her to know these things. It bothered him that she did.

"Yes," he said, his voice steady despite his underlying unease. "How…?"

Suyin cast a sly smile in his direction. "It seems I know many things you do not." In truth, her work required an intimate knowledge of all sorts of weapons. The women in her employ needed to protect themselves from the men they… serviced. Suyin had long ago become a self-made expert on female weaponry. She preferred knives, personally. Much easier to hide.

"Why do you carry this?" she asked. "What do you hope to do with an unloaded weapon? And blind?"

His cringe sent a pang of guilt through her. Perhaps he deserved a bit more tact.

"I'm… holding it for someone," he muttered.

Suyin cocked her head. He seemed almost… embarrassed. _This weapon must have some deep meaning to him_. "I see. I apologize." She glanced back down at the gun, studying it. There was something inscribed on the back strap. Blocky Amestrian lettering stood bright against the matte. _A word_, she realized. _Hawkeye. _Suyin frowned. The name stirred something in her memory…

_Ah yes_, she thought. _The woman from last night_.

So her pupil had himself a sweetheart. How… endearing. _Or perhaps she is no more_, Suyin amended, _considering the way she stormed from the office yesterday_. Looking back, Suyin guessed how the scene might have appeared to the female soldier. Mustang's reputation as a womanizer could not have helped the situation. Though she was from Xing, Suyin was wise to his supposed ways. As an experienced whore-monger, she heard many passed-down tales recounting the wayward attentions of Christmas' foster son. This Hawkeye woman must have assumed Suyin was another lover, come to call in Ishval.

Suyin grimaced at the thought. Perhaps Amestrian women considered Mustang's half-breed features exotic and fine, but by Xingese standards, he was downright plain.

A sharp knock sounded at the door. A grey-haired man poked his head into the room. "Excuse me Sir, I –" He stopped when he spotted Suyin lounging against Mustang's desk, gun in hand. "Sir! Look out!" The soldier drew out his weapon and trained it on her.

Suyin calmly set the pistol on a stack of files and slipped into a fighting stance with practiced ease. She preferred to avoid fights when possible, but she was no stranger to combat. She cocked her head and beckoned the Lieutenant with two fingers. The man blinked at her warily, and she smiled. Sometimes half the battle was simply to exude a formidable aura. "Come," she said softly. Dangerously.

The grey-haired man hesitated. He glanced at the General uncertainly. "Sir, are you alright?"

"Hold, Lieutenant Falman," Mustang's voice rang sharp and commanding from behind her. "It's alright. She's…" He paused. "She's… uh… well…" He bowed his head in thought, clearly unsure of what to call her. "Hm."

"His teacher," Suyin finished drily. The irony of the statement did not escape her. She straightened to consider the grey-haired man, noting the way his squinted eyes trailed over her curvaceous figure. A smile quirked at the edge of her lips. Perhaps she could have a bit of fun with him. She fixed Falman with her most intense smirk and slinked in his direction.

The Lieutenant stiffened, his eyes widening as the shapely woman approached. He seemed unnerved by her transformation from formidable warrior to beguiling temptress. He gulped audibly, and Suyin's smile spread. She was only mildly disappointed when he tore his eyes away to glance at the General. "W- what _kind_ of teacher, Sir?" Falman's voice squeaked as the Xingese woman rounded him, one painted finger running over the crest of his back.

Suyin's lips broke into a genuine grin – this grey-haired one was too much fun.

Mustang frowned, his blank eyes unseeing. "Suyin's teaching me alkahestry," he replied, as if it should be obvious.

"I… see." Falman eyed Suyin distrustfully as she glided back to Mustang's desk. She sent a half-lidded glance at him over her shoulder and winked. The grey-haired man twitched.

Suyin suppressed a laugh and ducked her head to hide her self-satisfied smile. She knew Falman's eyes were on her hips, for she purposefully swayed them in the most distracting way. _Men_. She smirked. _So easy to manipulate._ Speaking of…

"I shall take my leave, Mustang. Perhaps we may continue your studies this evening?"

The General nodded curtly, and Suyin stepped around his desk to slip out the window. She climbed to the rooftop with graceful ease, her silken clothes making soft whisking noises as she moved. The morning air smelled clean and dry. She inhaled, drawing deeply on the Dragon's Pulse, but her breath hitched in her throat. Her feet slowed and she nearly stumbled.

A dark chi flowed through the ruined city below her. It roiled in her core like a wormy ball. Suyin lifted her eyes to the horizon. In the distance, light from the dawning sun spilled over the Ishvalan sand. It was red – bright as blood.

_A ruby morn brings woe._ It was an old Xingese adage. Suyin reflexively crossed the last two fingers of her right hand as a ward against evil. A red sunrise was a rare sight in the desert; such things were important. Suyin was not a superstitious woman, but she lived long enough to recognize the familiar feeling that dropped in her gut like a stone. This bloody dawn was an omen. Something was coming.

As she hopped lightly across the rooftops, she wondered what the sign might portend. And for whom.

* * *

><p>They waited in silence a long time after Suyin left. Falman's hands twitched at his sides as he stared out the open window where the strange Xingese woman disappeared. The spicy scent of her perfume still lingered in the air. He'd never seen anything like her. After long quiet, Mustang looked up from his desk. "What do you have for me this morning, Falman?"<p>

The Lieutenant shook himself and saluted stiffly. "Sir. I'm sorry – Lieutenant Breda will not be reporting in today. It's the Braak flu, Sir. He barely made it through the stakeout last night."

"He's ill?" The General let out an exasperated breath. "First Fuery, now Breda. With Havoc still in Central, we're _three_ hands down today."

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."

Falman watched his superior slump in his seat. Mustang's voice came out strained. "It's not your fault. It's this blasted place." He sighed again. "When do we meet with Mulvihill?"

"Within the hour, Sir." Falman glanced down at the small desk near the door, where a stack of papers sat untouched. "I see Captain Hawkeye dropped the reports off this morning, Sir. Would you like to review them?"

Mustang frowned. "She dropped them last night." The General shrugged as though trying to throw an uncomfortable feeling from his shoulders. "Speaking of… have you seen her this morning? She was supposed to report in an hour ago."

"No, Sir. She wasn't in her office when I last checked."

Mustang's brows drew together. "Strange."

The General was right. Riza was usually the first to arrive in the office – and the last to leave. "Perhaps she's sick too, Sir?" Falman ventured.

Mustang only thought a moment before he shook his head. Falman had to agree. Hawkeye never let an illness keep her from work. She could be quite stubborn about it. Vato remembered a few occasions when Mustang _ordered_ her to take sick leave. And she always stalwartly refused. No, Hawkeye would have to be on her deathbed for a little flu to keep her from her duties. Especially with tensions so high in Ishval.

"I'll send a private to fetch her, Sir."

"Wait," Mustang said, rising from his chair. "Let me. I'll go."

Falman glanced at his watch. "Sir, we are due to meet the Ishvalan leaders. We'll be late if we don't leave soon."

An all-too familiar stubborn expression blossomed on the General's face. "We have time."

Falman shook his head. "No, Sir. We don't." Hawkeye would be livid if the General were late for his meeting with the Ishvalan Council. "I'll send someone to search for her, sir. I'm sure she was detained by something important."

Mustang seemed to hesitate, an indecisive expression twisting his face. For a long, disconcerting moment Falman feared his superior might tromp off in search of the missing Captain. To his relief, the General nodded reluctantly, taking Hayate's leash in hand. Falman breathed a thankful breath.

"After you, Sir."

* * *

><p>It still felt odd to be here. He felt out of place and cumbersome.<p>

Miles knew it was too much to hope, but somehow he expected something… more. A sense of coming home, perhaps. Or a connection with a culture that defined him for so many years. Despite his heritage, he felt like a stranger. He dreamed of returning to his homeland for so long, but none of his visions matched with this desolate wasteland filled with broken, downtrodden people.

And they despised him. His own people stared at him with distrustful eyes. It was his uniform. It stood out amongst the drab browns and bright slashes of red. He remembered one elderly Ishvalan woman in particular. Her accusing gaze lingered on the blue wool and brassy buttons. She glanced up with a question in her crimson eyes: How could he be loyal to an army that wronged his people for so many years?

Miles now knew the truth: After all his years of waiting, he would find no home here.

He marched purposefully between two newly-constructed buildings just outside the Ishvalan encampment. The three Council members stood just outside the taller structure, examining the exterior and speaking to one another in low, quiet tones. Counselor Caelyn looked pleased; a soft smile deepened the wrinkles on her face. Mulvihill pointed and said something Miles was too far away to hear, and Caelyn nodded. Alain stood a stride away from the two older Council memebers, his arms crossed and face fixed in an unpleasant expression.

"Major Miles," Mulvihill said when he caught sight of the younger Ishvalan. He lifted his hand in a friendly greeting.

"Good morning, Master." Miles indulged in a friendly smile. "I trust you are well?"

"Quite. Counselor Caelyn and I were just commenting on how pleased we are with the construction thus far."

Caelyn nodded warmly. "Yes. Thank you for all your efforts, Major. I speak for both my districts when I say that we are grateful." Behind her, Alain snorted and turned away.

Mulvihill ignored the reticent counselor. "Will Roy Mustang be here soon? There are more issues we would like to discuss this morning. Our meeting was unfortunately truncated yesterday." The Master's mouth turned in a frown. The incident with the Ishvalan Resistance leader, Shane, was still fresh in his mind.

Miles shifted and struggled to keep his expression neutral. Meanwhile, his emotions roiled. Mustang was late. _Doesn't he understand how important this is? _Miles could not afford setbacks after what happened with Shane yesterday. According to Miles' informant, the Resistance meeting last night was full of heated debate and half-made plans. Things were far from stable in Ishval. It would not take much for Mustang to instigate an already-delicate situation.

Yet he was an Amestrian soldier. And Mustang was his General. "I'm sorry, Master. I'm sure the General will be here as quickly as he is able."

Alain let out a wheezing, bitter laugh. "Does he think we're at his disposal? You may be his faithful lapdog, Major, but I'm not. I tire of waiting for this arrogant - "

"Good morning, counselors," the General's voice cut in smoothly. Miles turned to see his superior approaching, white cane sweeping before him.

Alain visibly cringed, but still managed to scowl in spite of it. Mustang stood calmly, one hand wrapped in the little dog's leash. A small smile played at the corner of his lips. Lieutenant Falman stood a pace behind the General, his arms leaden with a high stack of files.

Caelyn was first speak. "Good morning, Roy Mustang. Well-met again."

The General smiled warmly at her, but his eyes trailed in Alain's direction. One corner of his mouth quirked. "I apologize for being late."

"Not at all," Mulvihill said. "We are glad you were able to meet us again so quickly. We hoped to discuss an important issue today."

Mustang nodded. "The water."

"Yes," Caelyn replied. "We are concerned about our supply. There is not much left in the reservoir we found beneath our camp."

Miles frowned. With more Ishvalans arriving every morning, water had become an increasingly scarce resource. They began rationing over a week ago, yet the water table fell lower each day.

"Has there been any success with finding another reservoir?" Mulvihil asked.

"Not yet," said Miles. "We have three survey crews searching the ruins, but none of the pools we've found thus far are suitable for drinking."

Caelyn's lips pursed into a worried line. "What plans do we have should we be unable to find another reservoir?"

Lieutenant Falman coughed lightly. He dragged a file from the pile that teetered in his arms and flipped it open. "There are supplies on their way here as we speak. They should arrive early next week, but it's been slow going, given the terrain."

"I don't like this," Alain said, his arms crossed tightly before him. "We are too dependent on your supplies. We need to find an independent source of water." Alain glared disdainfully at the General. "Wouldn't you agree, Mustang?"

The General did not reply. Miles glanced at his superior; he stared blankly into the distance. Mustang looked lost in thought. His mind seemed far away, as though distracted. Miles grimaced internally and glanced at the Counselors. Mulvihil and Caeyln had soft frowns on their faces, while Alain looked downright offended. This was unacceptable.

"Sir?" Falman prompted gently.

Mustang jumped, nearly dropping his cane. "I- I'm sorry," he stammered. He shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, of course Counselor Alain. I agree it would be best if we found clean water here." Mustang cleared his throat. "We hoped some of your people might be willing to help us." He gestured in the direction of the Lieutenant. "Falman has some reports on the areas we've surveyed thus far. We are happy to share this information with you."

Miles was mildly surprised when he saw Alain's face relax - just slightly. The Ishvalan nodded curtly to the General and grunted in assent. Miles breathed a sigh of relief. Though blind, it was clear Mustang had a gift for reading people. But the General could not afford to be distracted. Not with things so tenuous in Ishval.

There was so much more to do before they found peace.

* * *

><p>An uncomfortable feeling rested deep in Roy's gut. It lingered there - persistent - since last night. At first he thought he was the Braak flu's newest victim, but as the day wore on, he realized that something else nagged just beyond his consciousness. It unsettled him.<p>

Thankfully, the meeting with the Ishvalan leadership went better than he hoped. He left the meeting after two hours of discussion and debate. He could understand the Ishvalan's Council's worry: Water supplies were running low in the Amestrian camp as well. It threatened to bring construction to a standstill.

Mustang meandered down the planked path towards the command building. Falman had stepped away for a moment to make arrangements for a meeting later that day. Mustang practically had to push the Lieutenant away; Falman refused to believe that Roy was capable of finding his own way back. "I can still get by, Hayate," Mustang muttered to the little dog that trotted at his side. "Frankly, I think I'm doing pretty well."

Hayate panted below him. In Roy's mind, he imagined the canine nodding sagely in agreement.

"Sir!" called a male voice Mustang did not recognize. "General!"

Roy stopped and allowed the soldier to approach. "Yes? Er, who...?"

"Private Anadis, sir."

"Yes? What is it, private?"

"Sir," the Anadis said stiffly. "Leiutenant Falman asked me to find Captain Hawkeye, sir. I couldn't find her anywhere on the base. No one has seen her. I even tried her flat. I knocked, but no one answered."

"I see. You're absolutely certain no one has seen her?

"One hundred percent, sir."

"And she's not in her flat? You checked all the rooms?"

"Well Sir, I didn't… exactly… I didn't go _into_ the apartment, Sir. I didn't think –"

"That's right. You didn't think," Mustang spat. He pinched the bridge of his nose. _Incompetent_. "You realize, private, that the Braak flu is raging through the camp? What if she's laid out sick in bed? What if she couldn't answer the door? Did the thought even _occur_ to you?"

"S- sorry sir. I only –"

"Nevermind. Just –" Roy took a calming breath. "And she hasn't reported in? You're absolutely _sure _she's not in her office or the command building?"

"N- no Sir."

This was so unlike her. "Thank you, private. Dismissed."

Mustang turned away from the young man, his feet already pointed in the direction of Hawkeye's apartment. He was a man of action – he would find her himself. Falman would be less than pleased at his unannounced disappearance, but Roy could no longer wait. Something was off about this day. He felt restless. A hot, anxious feeling worried at the back of his neck. It was as though he had forgotten to do something – like he was missing some essential step. "C'mon Hayate," Mustang said, setting a brisk pace down the timbered walkway. His cane swung in a wide arc before him.

The little dog bucked and pulled at the leash as they neared Hawkeye's flat. Roy suddenly felt nauseous, his stomach twisting into a tight ball. He realized with a growing sense of dread that this was no flu. This was something else entirely. Hayate practically dragged him to Riza's door, and soon his cane tapped against its wooden surface.

His hand hovered for a moment before he rapped twice.

No answer.

He did not like this. It was too still here. It worried him, though he could not say why. Hayate scrabbled at the door, desperate. That decided it: He would let himself in and deal Hawkeye's inevitable displeasure later. Roy clapped and laid his palms against sun-warmed knob. The lock clicked and the door fell open with a soft creak.

Something was wrong. He knew the moment he entered the room. A metallic scent hung heavy in the air. The house was silent; it seemed to swallow the sound of his shuffling boots. With a yelp, Hayate sprang forward and his leash flew from Mustang's toneless fingers. Roy's cane caught in the strap and went skittering across the floor. He heard the dog's claws scrabble as he raced across the main living area and into the adjoining room. Then the canine let out a soft, pitiful whine.

"Captain?" Roy called. "Captain!" He stepped forward blindly, wishing for the first time he had his cane to guide him. His foot bumped into something. He reached down and his hand brushed over an overturned chair. Panic began to swell in his chest. _What happened here? Where is she?_ Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. He had to find her. _Now. Now now now._

His heart pounded in rhythm with its silent demand.

"Captain, answer me!" Roy stumbled towards the sound of Hayate's mournful whimper. His feet tangled in another piece of furniture. This time he fell, his palms scraping against the rough floorboards. He hardly felt the pain. He clumsily rose to his feet, only to run headlong into a wall. "Damn it!" he roared. "Riza! Goddammit, Riza! Answer!" He choked as terror clutched his throat. He needed to hear her. Any sound – a moan, a cry, a scream – anything. But there was nothing. Nothing.

He was not sure why he did it. He was the Flame Alchemist; his skills were of no use to him now. Yet in an act of frantic desperation, he clapped his hands together. He felt power course through him and flow through the circle of his arms. But he could not focus on equations. A transmutation circle refused to resolve in his mind. Only her. He only thought of her.

_Riza_.

He set his palms against the wooden floor.

The transmutation felt strange, foreign. He sensed tendrils of energy leak from his arms into the wooden planks. They splayed in all directions, curling and eddying around him. _What is this?_ It was unlike any alchemy he knew. The power resonated in waves, reverberating off the walls and fallen furniture. His mind strayed briefly to the chair he stumbled over when he first entered the room. As though hearing his thoughts, the tendrils began to drift in the direction of the toppled seat. After a dizzying moment, he realized he had somehow directed the energy. It bent to his will. Furrowing his brow in concentration, he sent this new, strange power towards the sound of Hayate's cry. Somehow he knew it was the right thing to do.

And then he saw her. A strange new world opened to him, with Riza at its center. Coils of his energy wound around her body and enveloped her in an unearthly glow. But did not see her – not with his eyes. This vision was nothing like the sight he lost.

He was _Seeing_. He Saw things that were beyond human sense. He could See the ebb and flow of her shallow breaths. He could See the fluttering cadence of her weakening pulse. He could See the odd, tri-looped wound that rent her back. All these things and a million tiny others. And for an instant he Understood Riza. Completely. Utterly. He knew the melody of her soul and the quiet beating of her heart.

A light that was not light poured from her wound, dissipating in the air like mist. And he knew it was her lifeforce. She was slipping away.

"No!" The word ripped out of him. "Riza!" _No. No no no._ He stumbled toward her, her form like a beacon in this otherworldly sight.

He reached for her and his hand clasped about her wrist. The instant his skin touched hers, he was plunged into darkness. The strange non-sight disappeared and he was blind once more. But he could not bring himself to care at the moment. He had Seen enough in those few seconds to reach her. Her wrist was deathly cold beneath his fingers. Roy clapped. The wooden shackles that enclosed her wrists fell away, and he reached for her again. His hand fell on her back. It was tacky with blood.

"Riza," he whispered, harsh and afraid. Roy's hand skimmed up her shoulder to the hair that splayed over her face. He brushed it aside and was relieved to feel her breath puff softly against his skin. "Riza, say something," he said louder, stroking his knuckles along her cheek. She did not stir. He turned her over and gathered her in his arms, clutching her limp form to his chest. "Riza, open your eyes." He rested two fingers against her neck. Her pulse felt thready, like a small, fluttering bird.

She was so still. So terrifyingly quiet. As quiet as her flat had been last night. He let out a choked cry as he realized what he had done; how he ignored Hayate's signals. _He_ did this to her. He was here last night and he did nothing. _Nothing_. He should have known. He should have realized something was wrong. But he left her alone, bleeding to death. Guilt washed over him, hot and prickly. A guttural moan escaped his throat and his arms tightened around her body. A feeling of impending loss tore, tore, _tore_ at him until he felt it would rip him in twain.

_Stay, Riza. You have to. You have to stay._

He lifted her from the blood-soaked bed. She felt so small, so fragile. Nothing like the strong, confident woman he knew. Her head fell limply against his shoulder. Roy's breath came in throaty, panicked gasps as he began to cautiously make his way to the bedroom door. Hayate paced and whined at his feet. He had to get her out of here. He had to get her help.

_Now now now._

"Shit!" he roared as he felt Riza's legs knock into the doorjamb. He had never felt so blind. A white-hot panic enveloped him, filling his limbs with hysterical energy. His entire body trembled with the force of it. He clutched her tightly, tucking her into his chest, and started forward again.

Roy's foot caught the overturned chair. He let out a startled, broken cry, stumbled, and nearly fell. A wordless keen tore through his throat. She was slipping and he was blind and he was useless. Utterly useless. He was killing her. "Help me! Shit! Somebody…" Roy's shoulder glanced against the wall and he began to unravel. He let out a single, broken sob. His knees lost all tone and he slid to the floor, Riza still held tightly in his arms. His voice faded to a soft moan. "Help me… she… she…" Roy buried his face in her hair. Even now, she smelled of lavender. Of gunpowder and mineral oil. Of her.

It was excruciating.

"Mustang?" called a voice from the entrance of the flat. Roy recognized the accent immediately: Suyin.

He could barely get the words around his choked throat. "In here! I need help."

He heard the soft swish of silk and hurried, muffled footsteps. "I sensed..." Suyin paused as she took in the sight of Mustang crouched on the floor, Riza's bloodied body in his arms. "What...?"

The words bubbled out, unrelenting and unstoppable. "I don't know! I found her like this. Someone attacked her. Someone came in here and attacked her. It's her back. They cut her back. She's bleeding. She's probably been bleeding for hours. I can't see. _I can't see_. Oh God, Riza - "

"Mustang…"

"Help me." His voice built, carrying a frantic, helpless air. "You know alkahestry. Heal her. Heal her! You can, can't you?"

"I…"

"Heal her. Your damn alkahestry has to be good for _something_," Mustang hissed. "_Heal_ her!"

"You must…"

"Heal her!" he snarled. "Do _something_, you bitch!"

"Mustang." The word was sharp enough to snap him from his own despair. "Put her down." Her voice was deadly calm.

He hated her for it.

"Heal her," he whispered.

"I will try. But first you must put her down."

"Please," he breathed. "Please." He reverently lowered Riza to the floor. His hand lingered in her silken hair, now matted with blood.

He felt Suyin's hand on his shoulder. "Give me room," she said, not unkindly.

Roy stumbled back. He was lightheaded; his heart pounded, flooding his ears with an awful roaring. He felt helpless as he stood blind in the center of the room - like he was floating in some dark, turbulent sea. He heard a soft scraping, then the solid sound of metal imbedding in wood. There was a brief rushing noise and Roy felt heat radiate against the front of his uniform.

"It is finished," Suyin said. Her voice sounded strained. "I have done what I can. The wounds are sealed, but she lost much blood. She will need more rest."

"Riza," he breathed, sinking to the floor next to her. His hand found hers with startling ease. It was warmer than before. Her breathing seemed easier. But it was still frighteningly shallow and she remained utterly still. "Why isn't she saying anything? Why isn't she waking up?"

"She… needs to rest," Suyin reassured. "Mustang, there is something you should –"

"General, sir!" Falman's voice called from the apartment door. Roy could hear the sound of pounding footsteps outside. "Are you here, Sir?"

"Here!" Roy called. The word rasped painfully in his torn throat. "In here, Lieutenant." His arms curled around Riza's body and he lifted her from the floor. He heard the sound of boots echo in the main room. Falman must have brought a small cadre of soldiers along with him.

"Sir!" Shock threaded through the Lieutenant's usually gruff tone. Roy imagined Falman's distraught expression as he took in the sight of their beloved, ruined Queen. They all adored her – every one of them. This was unthinkable. "Is she alright Sir? What happened?"

"Falman... I… she –" Roy could not find the words for this unspeakable thing.

A sudden flurry of voices exploded from the main room. Roy heard the soft, telltale click of firearms brought to bear.

"You there! Woman!"

"Step away from the General!"

"Put your hands up! Now!"

Falman's voice cut through the cacophony. "Stand down!" he clipped. "Stop! Put away your weapons!"

Suyin spoke from just to Roy;s left – calm and collected. "You will not point those things at me. Not if you wish to live."

Roy's heart lurched and he gripped Riza's body more tightly in his arms. "Stand down," he clipped to his men. "Falman, get them in hand. Suyin didn't do this."

"Sir," Falman acknowledged. He began barking orders at the soldiers. Mustang hardly heard the words. Instead, his ears strained for the sound of Riza's tenuous breaths. They came soft but steady. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his. She was alive. Alive, but so terribly hurt. Roy leaned his head down to press his cheek against her brow. He came so close to losing her again. _Again_. He almost lost her _again_. His heart fluttered. Something sparked within him. It caught. It burned.

Once started, it was beyond Roy's control. It took hold of him – overwhelmed and enveloped him. It coursed through him like a raging fire. It filled his senses, muffling the world around, and soon all he knew was the feeling of his own righteous fury.

They hurt her. They _hurt_ her. She, one of the few things in this world he truly loved. And somehow he knew – he was certain – it was his fault. This was for him. He was the target. She suffered because of his selfishness, his oversight, his _blindness_. His heart ached - screamed - as he thought of how she suffered. He would never forgive himself for this.

He heard a voice. It seemed to come from very far away. Unseen hands tugged at Riza's body, pulling her away from him. _No_. "No!" He would not let her go to a place where he could not see. "Stay away from her!" he snarled. The covetous hands retreated, and Roy clutched Riza's body ever closer to his chest.

"I- I'm sorry Sir," a voice stuttered. It took a moment for him to recognize it as Falman's. "I thought I might take her…"

"No." Roy pulled away. "Stay back."

"Mustang." Suyin's voice was soft and low, as though speaking to a wild thing. "Calm yourself. We are trying to help you."

Taking the cue from the Xingese woman, Falman muted his tone. "P- please, Sir. It's alright. Let me carry her for you."

"No!"

"Mustang, listen to reason. She needs to see a doctor. You cannot carry her without your sight."

"I… I can. I can do it. I don't want to be… I can't be too far." The fire in his chest blazed furiously at the thought. He needed to know she was safe; to feel her warmth against his skin. Roy hitched Riza higher in his arms. "Just guide me. I… need to carry her."

"But Sir…"

"Put your hand on my shoulder, Falman," Roy said. "Take us to the infirmary." For the first time, he was grateful for his blindness. It meant he could not see the concerned expression on his Lieutenant's face. He knew it was there, and he could not bear it. Not now. He did not deserve pity.

Falman had a right to worry. A hateful, fiery anger boiled within Roy.

He did not know what he might do next.

* * *

><p>Breda was perched over the toilet when the knock sounded at his door. He groaned. He felt like shit. After the stakeout last night, he returned to his flat to ride out the worst of his illness. He arrived not a moment too soon. He was fairly certain he now knew what it was to "puke one's guts out." It was just as unpleasant as it sounded. What a horrible, endless night.<p>

He tottered to the door, wiping his chapped lips with the back of his hand. "This'd better be good," he muttered. He was not in any shape to do his duties today. He felt wrung out like a sponge. Breda pulled the door open with a weary sigh.

A young female cadet stood outside. She snapped to attention and saluted briskly. "Sir!" The cadet was silent for a moment as her eyes raked over Breda's unkempt figure. Her lips dropped in a tiny, disgusted frown. Breda grimaced. Apparently he looked just as bad as he felt.

"What is it?" Breda snapped. The light of the midday sun seemed to come from just behind her, piercing his eyes with its needlelike rays. He wanted so desperately to return to his cot and curl into a miserable ball.

"Sir, I was instructed to fetch you, sir."

_You have to be kidding…_ Breda leaned against the door wearily. "I'm out sick, cadet," he said impatiently. "I'm _off_. Who exactly gave you this order?"

"Lieutenant Falman, sir. He said it was an emergency, sir. I am not to leave here unless accompanied by you, sir."

"Of course you aren't," Breda muttered bitterly. This damn cadet was beginning to annoy him with her high-pitched, squeaky voice. It cut through his aching head like a blade. "What is this about?"

"Sir, I was not informed. I was just told to get you, sir."

Breda stared at the cadet with narrowed, furious eyes. But orders were orders, and Falman would not have called him for something trivial. He hoped the meeting with the Ishvalan Council this morning ended well. "_Fine_," Breda said. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to steady his churning stomach. "Just… wait here, cadet. I need a sec." He began to swing the door closed, but turned back to squint into the searing noonday sun. "And stop saying 'sir' so damn much. It's pissing me off."

The cadet shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, sir. Er, please hurry, s– er…. I mean, please hurry. Lieutenant Falman indicated it was a rather urgent matter."

"I'm sure it is," Breda bit. He shut the door with a bit more force than necessary. With a weary sigh, he began shambling through his messy apartment, searching for the uniform he hurriedly shed the night before. He grumbled seditiously under his breath._ This had better be good, Falman._

Five minutes later, Breda stumbled weakly after the female cadet, his booted feet dragging along the path. The sun beat down on his head. He swayed like a drunkard. The heat and movement did not help his already-curdled stomach. Not one bit.

"Sir!" called a listless voice. Breda turned to see Fuery approach, his youthful face peaked and drawn. Apparently the Braak flu had done him in as well.

"Fuery," Breda greeted the Sergeant with little enthusiasm. "Falman called for you, too?"

The young man nodded, then immediately grimaced and clutched his stomach. "What is this about, Sir?" he hissed between his teeth.

Breda shook his head. "Dunno." He clapped a hand on Fuery's shoulder in what he hoped was a sympathetic gesture. The young man gagged slightly, his face turning a sickly green. Breda quickly let go and murmured a hasty apology.

The younger man simply shook his head, his eyes squeezed tight.

Breda let out a breath. "Well, whatever this is about, let's just get it over with. The sooner it's done, the sooner we can get back to bed."

"Right," Fuery muttered.

"Follow me, sirs," squeaked the annoying cadet. She turned down the path that led to the north portion of the camp.

Her feet pointed in the direction of the infirmary.

"Shit," muttered Breda. _Shit shit shit_. He exchanged a worried glance with Fuery and hurried after the cadet.

The tiny hospital smelled of antiseptic and newly-cut tile. The echoing hallways were hushed but for the occasional cough or scraping sound of nurses' rubber-soled shoes. Falman waited just inside the entrance, his body as taught as a stretched band. He strode forward the moment he saw them. Breda decided he did not like the look on his friend's already-solemn face.

"I'm sorry," Falman began. His normally clipped tone sounded garbled. "I know you're both ill... but..."

"What is it?" Fuery piped. "What happened?"

Fuery's lips pursed. He swallowed thickly. "It's Captain Hawkeye. She was attacked. The General found her. She was... near the end."

"No." Breda reached forward to grip his friend's arm. He clung to it, squeezing with the same ferocity as the tight, bound feeling that clutched his chest. _Riza_. The very heart of their team. The one they could always depend on - who remained steadfast and strong through everything. She was the bravest, truest soldier he knew. It couldn't be. They were rudderless without her. Why would someone want to hurt such a beautiful, tranquil creature?

Fuery shook his head in disbelief and let out a tiny, heart-wrenching cry.

"Is she..." Breda stammered, "will she...?" He furiously blinked back tears that pricked his eyes. He could not bring himself to utter the unfathomable fears that stole through his heart.

"She's alive," Falman reassured. But his face was grave. "She hasn't woken up. Not since Suyin healed her."

"W- who?"

The grey-haired man shrugged. "The General's alkahestry teacher, apparently."

Breda was not sure what to make that. He could not bring himself to care. There were more important matters at hand. "Can we see her?"

Falman jerked his head towards a dimly-lit corridor. "She's here. Come with me." The three men started down the hall, their boots reverberating hollowly off the pristine tiles. They only walked a few steps before Falman stopped. "Wait."

Breda almost knocked into the taller man; his stomach churned angrily in response. "What is it, Falman?" he snapped. _No more delays_.

The grey Lieutenant avoided Breda's eyes. "It's the General, sir."

Breda's breath hitched. He had not even thought of Mustang. They all loved Riza, but the General... Their superior attempted to hide his feelings behind his snarky comments and sly smirks, but they all knew: Mustang could not function without his fair-haired shadow. The bond he and Riza shared was something beyond Breda's understanding. There was something tangible - _palpable _- between them.

This could break him.

Breda took a long breath, puffing it out between tightly pursed lips. "Is he alright?"

Falman glanced up from beneath his silvery fringe. "He's barely spoken Breda," he said softly. "He won't leave her side."

The three men exchanged meaningful glances. Breda puffed out an impatient breath. "Good thing you called me. Someone's gotta slap some sense into his head. Especially while Riza's -" He stopped when a tight feeling caught in his throat. "C'mon," he said gruffly. He strode into the room.

Riza lay, still and beautiful as a sculpture, her body softly lit by light from the nearby window. Her hair splayed like a golden halo around her head and her skin glowed a beautiful, pure alabaster. It made Breda's heart ache. Mustang sat at her side, his blank eyes staring intently at her prone form. He held her limp hand, his thumb moving in an endless circle on her palm.

A soft sound drew Breda's eyes to the corner of the room. A Xingese woman crouched there, balanced easily on the balls of her feet. Her sharp eyes glanced up at Breda for a moment before her gaze returned to Mustang. She seemed to be studying him, attentive. Wary.

"Sir?" Breda said softly. Mustang did not move. Breda took another step, speaking more loudly this time. "Sir?"

"They wanted to send a message." Mustang's voice sounded hollow. Empty.

"Sir?"

"They carved it into her back, Breda. They wanted me to see it."

Breda did not like his superior's foreboding tone. "I… I don't understand, Sir."

"Her wound. Before Suyin healed it… It had a shape. A specific shape."

"Sir… you need to rest. Falman and I can –"

"Get me something to write on." Mustang said coldly. "Now."

"Uh, sure…" Breda exchanged a worried glance with Breda and Falman before he patted his coat and pulled out a pen and wrinkled piece of paper. He placed them in Mustang's outstretched hand.

The General braced the scrap on the top of the bed, his hands sure. "They were sending me a message." He said again. He began to draw, the pen moving in loops over the surface of the paper. "Whoever they were, they wanted me to know _they_ were the ones that did it to her." He stopped sketching, and his hand moved away. Breda leaned forward to examine the shaky image.

He gasped. He knew that shape. He had seen it just last night.

Mustang had drawn a three-looped triquetra.

The General cocked his head. "You recognize it?"

"Y- yes, sir." Breda replied slowly.

"Well?" The word sounded rapacious and vengeful all at once.

"It's…" Breda swallowed thickly. "Sir, it's the symbol of the Ishvalan resistance movement."

The General's sightless eyes stared at Breda, unblinking. Something in his aura changed. The air around him seemed to crackle and warp. Though Mustang remained motionless, he suddenly seemed dangerous. Like a coiled whip. Like a loaded gun.

"It was _them_, Breda," Mustang murmured. "_They_ did this to her." His expression contorted into a dark, unforgiving mask. "Take me to their hideout."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And now we begin the second half of the story. Sorry this took so long to update! I'd like to dedicate this chapter to all the anonymous reviewers out there. I usually try to PM/reply to every comment, but… to you, I can't! So here it is: **

**Thanks so much for taking the time to review. I really appreciate all the supportive remarks (and also the criticisms!). I wouldn't still be writing this story if it weren't for your kind encouragement and thoughtful comments. You guys rock my socks. You rock them right off. Keep those reviews coming! Yours, Antigone.**

**Next Chapter: Snap**


	12. Snap

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 12****: Snap **

**1) **_**noun**_** - a brisk, sharp cracking sound**

**2) **_**verb**_** - to give way abruptly under pressure or tension**

**3) **_**verb**_** - to suffer a physical or mental breakdown, especially while under stress**

**4) **_**verb**_** - to wake from sleep or stupor, or a to strange emotional place**

**5) **_**noun**_** - the brisk movement of a thumb against the fingers**

-o-o-o-

It felt strange to feel the sun against her face. She dwelt so long in the darkness, hidden beneath the comfort of her hood, she could not recall the sensation of light. She forgot the way the sun pulled at her skin, the way the brightness filtered through her fingers. She tipped her chin up to soak in the rays. She deserved warmth on this day of all days. She deserved to stand in the open. In the light.

The sun blazed above like a prophecy.

She climbed to the top of this abandoned building during the early dawn hours. It was the tallest in the area; a tower ruined early in the Ishvalan War. She remembered it from her childhood: The top was a perfect dome then, covered in a gild that flashed bright under the desert sun. Back then, seen through the lens of youth, it looked just like Mother's hair - shining and radiant. Devon loved it then, too.

Now the tower was broken; the stones that rimmed the top jutted into the sky like shattered teeth. Like her brother's mind, it was destroyed in the war without hope of repair. Devon tried to follow her when she left this morning. He did not understand - he never did. Ashika was forced to bar him from following using Alchemy. Even now, she hated doing such things to him. But it was for his own protection. She could not have him with her today. There was too much to do.

The tower was the perfect location, giving her a wide, unhindered vantage of the Amestrian camp. Only one soldier guarded its entrance, and Ashika - now wreathed in the power of a Philosopher's stone - disposed of him easily enough.

She mounted the crumbling stairs with growing excitement. She could not wait to see how the scene played out on the streets below. Her dreams made real, like a story unfolding before her. She settled at the very top of the tower, thin legs tucked beneath - a mocking semblance of the meditation pose she once endured while studying under Jiao. She hardly blinked as she peered into the dwindling darkness. She refused to miss a single moment.

Her stomach churned the first time she caught a glimpse of him. The Flame Alchemist. Mother's murderer. The man who marked her. Ashika's hands twisted in her lap - the same motion one might use to snap someone's neck. She wished to - badly. But that death was not enough for the likes of him. He deserved far worse. She needed him to suffer.

She saw the General make his slow way to the Command Center in the morning dim, black dog at his side and cane sweeping before him. She watched the faraway lines of his body, the way he held his shoulders, the angle of his head. He did not know - not yet. He did not know his Captain lay alone and dying. But it was only a matter of time. Ashika struggled not to hold her breath.

He left the Command Center later that morning, not long after soldiers began stirring on the streets. He was accompanied by a grey-haired man she recognized as Lieutenant Falman. The two officers headed into the heart of the ruined Ishvalan city. Ashika watched until Mustang's figure was but a faraway smudge of blue. Still he did not know.

It was not until the General returned, unaccompanied, that Ashika saw it. The tension in his back. The urgency in his gait. A young private approached him and exchanged a few hurried words. Mustang strode away from the conversation with new haste. Ashika's stomach dropped when she saw him head in the direction of the officer's quarters. This was it.

She alone saw him enter the Captain's apartment. She alone knew the moment he discovered her body. Ashika left her alive for a purpose, and though she could feel the Captain's faraway chi, it grew fainter by the moment. Even now, with Mustang there to save her, she might die. Ultimately it did not alter Ashika's plans. Either way, Mustang's fury would be his undoing. She knew of his fiery temper. She'd heard whispers of it from Amestrian and Ishvalan alike: a trait matching his Alchemic skill in its ferocity. His weakness. Her advantage.

Not long after he disappeared into the flat, Ashika felt a strange pull at the edge of her senses, like a void dropped somewhere in the distance. Ashika shifted where she sat, shrugging her shoulders to shed the odd sensation. It only lasted the span of a few heartbeats before it was gone. The next moment a group of soldiers, led by Falman, spilled out of the Command Center and marched briskly to the flat. They entered. There was another pull, this one different from the first. It was not long before Mustang emerged with the Captain in his arms.

Ashika smiled with vicious satisfaction. Now she would see this play out. Would he see?

The walkway to the infirmary wound just below her hiding place. She watched Mustang - led by the shoulder by Lieutenant Falman - carry the Captain's still body into the hospital. The small group of soldiers followed in a silent procession. This time Ashika was close enough to see the General's face. It was pale and bleak - a mask of grief. But his eyes sent a flutter of excitement through her. The beginnings of fire dwelt there: flickering, unstable, but undying. Ashika's heart quickened. This was it. She was on the cusp of everything.

-o-o-o-

Silence. No one moved, afraid to disturb the absolute still that settled over the room. Mustang's words hung in the air, tangible enough to touch. He stared directly at Breda; his blank eyes suddenly ancient, intent, and far too seeing.

"Where is their hideout, Lieutenant?" His voice had the hard edge of command. Breda could not remember the last time Mustang used that tone on him. He rarely had need for it.

"Sir..." Breda said, shifting uncomfortably. "I don't think -"

Mustang's brows furrowed. He hardly moved, but something inside him seemed to rise up and rear back like a snake ready to strike. His voice was deceptively smooth - as treacherous as a sheet of ice over rapids. "I asked you a question, Lieutenant. Where is it?"

Breda managed to take in a shaking breath, willing himself to be stronger than he felt. "Sir... I..." He could feel everything unravelling, falling apart like sand in his hands. He remembered the days before Ishval, when they worked at Eastern Headquarters. They were happy back then, shoved in a cramped little office filled with the scent of drying ink and sounds of bustling industry. A collegial boy's club of jostling elbows and crude innuendo. It was all a cover, of course; what they did in quiet corners at night was sedition at best, treason at worst. Yet it was wrapped in a veil of guileless conspiracy - nothing more than a giant chess match. As meaningless and transient as a child's game.

The good times faded when Maes Hughes died. Something inside Mustang broke that day, snapped irreparably as a child's toy. He always had a darkness about him, something deep and veiled and less than secret, but after that day it became more apparent. It leaked out at unpredictable times: a brief flash of anger, a hint of melancholy. A frayed edge always threatening to come undone.

And now he was vulnerable, made weak in a land poised to swallow him for the second time. Their little game transformed into something far too real. It was not meant to be this way. Ishval was supposed to be a victory for them, not a tragedy.

"Lieutenant," Mustang said. The word came soft and sinister. The General never rose from his chair, never took his hand from Riza's, but the intensity of his gaze pushed Breda like heat from a fire. The Lieutenant fought the urge to take an involuntary step back. "Answer me."

The silence seemed to roar. Everyone held their breath, eyes trained on the blind man whose dark affect choked the room. Breda felt Falman and Fuery shift just behind him. All three of them were bewildered. Lost. They did not know how to cope with this transformed man. Breda bit his cheek to stir his mind into working. Nothing came. Wit and intellect were of no use to him now - not in the face of such grief and uncompromising anger.

"Lieutenant," Mustang said again. "I asked you a question."

"Sir..." Breda said helplessly. "I... can't."

"You can't."

Breda shook his head. "Chief... listen to me. Something isn't right. Why would the Resistance do this? They're outnumbered and outgunned. Why would they leave such a blatant calling card? What purpose would it serve?"

Mustang stared, unseeing. His free hand clenched at his side. "You refuse to follow a direct order."

"Sir, no. It's not that -"

The General rose from his seat like a bank of looming black clouds, his brow stormy. "You refuse to help." One hand still gripped Hawkeye's tightly, both sets of knuckles ice-white. "You refused to help me find the people that did this to _her_."

"_Listen_ to me, Sir," Breda said. "We should think about this." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Xingese woman rise. She unfurled slowly, as though afraid to startle Mustang. She looked at him as though he were a wild animal ready to snap any anyone who drew too close. Fear dropped in Breda's gut. "Just _listen_, Sir."

"So there it is," Mustang hissed. "You won't help me. You won't help _us_..."

"You _know_ that isn't it, Sir..."

Mustang growled and turned away to face Hawkeye, a woman so still she might have been carved from marble. "Fine," he said. "I don't need you." He lifted Riza's hand to press it against his lips in a fierce kiss. "I can do it myself," he murmured against her skin. "I know how to do it. I _know_, Breda."

Breda was about to speak, but stopped when the Xingese woman stepped forward, back arched like a startled cat. "Mustang...!"

"Stay back," Mustang said. He gently laid Riza's hand at her side. "Stay back, Suyin."

Breda hesitated. A violent, unseen thing arced between the stranger and his commander. Something deep and primal that he did not completely understand. Breda always found Alchemy unnerving; so much power from a simple sketch seemed wrong and unnatural to him. The feel of it - like the world was taken apart and put back together in a single moment - invariably sent shivers down his spine. But what he sensed now was something else entirely. A great power stirred in the room. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end and goosebumps stood out stark on his arms. Something wasn't right.

Suyin took another step toward the General, her entire body leaning forward as though against an unseen force. "Stop, Mustang!" she said harshly. "Listen to your man. You are blind. You cannot see the end of this."

"I will, Suyin." Mustang smiled bitterly. "I will." He clapped his hands together and placed them on the edge of Riza's bed.

For a long moment, nothing happened. An unnatural stillness settled over the room, a chill void that did not belong in this hot, crowded place. The three soldiers held their breath, terrified of what was to come. Breda felt something shift in the air. It was imperceptible at first - hardly more than a breath. Suyin suddenly stiffened, pulled tight as a cord. She sucked a breath through her teeth. Something stirred again. A puff of wind grazed Breda's cheek, and he could see Riza's hair shift on the pillow - tendrils moving in an unseen wind.

Breda finally found his voice. "Wha-?"

Suddenly the room filled with an awful roaring; gusts buffeted them from all directions. Breda struggled to keep his balance. He crouched like a child as winds swept through the room, tugging at his jacket, pulling off his epaulets. Gusts caught his trousers, threatening sweep him from his feet. A tray at the bedside toppled, scattering vials on the floor. Fuery shouted - a high pitiful thing full of fear, words lost in the underlying cacophony. Breda did not look around. He could not help Fuery. He could only stare on in horror at his commander, who stood at the very center of the chaos, an unmoving island at the heart of a raging storm. He leaned over the bed, intent on Hawkeye alone.

It was over as abruptly as it began. The wind stopped and Riza's hair fell like a curtain over her shoulders. Soon the only movement was a handful of medicine vials still spinning on the floor. Breda glanced over to see Falman leaning against the wall, legs spread for balance. He was covered in a sheen of sweat. Fuery crouched in the corner with his hands over his head. The Xingese woman had not moved from where she stood. She appeared outwardly calm, but Breda could see her hands shake as she delicately tugged her clothing back in place. Through the resounding quiet, they could hear Mustang's soft, ragged pants.

"I... See," the General breathed. "I See. She knew where it was... she knew where it was hidden."

Breda's stomach dropped. He could not be sure, but Mustang could only mean the Resistance base. And _'she'_... the only 'she' who knew of its existence was… Hawkeye. Terror struck Breda like a fist to the gut. Riza _did _know the location of the hideout. She knew every detail of the operation: She was the one to oversee it, as she did all Mustang's affairs. But he was certain the General had no time to review the reports from last night. How was this possible? How could he know?

"Sir...?"

Mustang straightened. Power wreathed him like a mantle. He looked down at Riza with clear, knowing eyes. He recognized her. And - as impossible as it seemed - he _saw_ her lying there, so cold and still. Mustang's face twisted into something dark and ugly. He reached out as though to run his hand over her cheek, but withdrew before he could touch her. His mouth firmed. With a curt nod, Mustang rounded the bed and with the confidence of a seeing man, headed straight for the door.

The two older soldiers scrambled up at once. Falman was first to reach the General. "Stop! Sir!"

"Stay back." Mustang's voice was cold. Fearless and _cold_. His presence filled the room, pressing out against the walls, too big to be housed in the space. Falman drew away, face suddenly pale. Breda and Fuery looked on in shock. The General hardly paused. He strode out of the door with deadly intent.

Breda hurried to Falman's side. "We have to follow him," he said. "We can't let him..." He did not need to say more. The expression on Mustang's face spoke things Breda refused to utter aloud. Falman nodded and started after their commander. Breda quickly stepped over to Fuery, still crouched on the floor. He leaned down to place his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Stay here with Hawkeye," Breda said. "I need you to protect her."

At first, Fuery did not reply; he simply stared at the door where the General disappeared. The young man's face was ashen, his glasses askew. After a prompting squeeze from Breda, Fuery glanced up at his friend and swallowed thickly. He nodded. Breda set an encouraging pat on the young man's cheek before hurrying on. He nearly reached the door when Suyin appeared at his side.

"I shall come with you," she said. Her soft, heated voice brooked no argument.

Breda regarded her with pursed lips. He did not know this woman; she was a stranger to him and therefore a threat. Yet she seemed to know something of Alkahestry. She might be of use. "Do whatever the hell you want," he clipped. He did not have time to argue. He had to catch up with the others. _And besides_, he thought grimly, _maybe she can explain what just happened._

Before he stepped out the door, Breda saw Suyin crouch beside Fuery. The young man stared at her with too-wide eyes. "Watch her," she said, voice low. Her dark eyes drifted up to the unconscious woman in the bed. "She... There is something..." Suyin shook her head. "It's dangerous. Take care to watch her." She studied Hawkeye for another heartbeat before she slipped past Breda and out the door.

-o-o-o-

Ashika shifted on the hard stone. Not five minutes ago, two soldiers disappeared into the hospital. She recognized the fat one: Lieutenant Breda, quiet genius and strategic analyst for Mustang's team. She wondered how this might affect things. They had only been in the hospital a few moments before Ashika felt another tug at the edge of her senses. She half-rose as recognition dawned. This time, it was unmistakable: Alkahestry. Someone in there knew _Alkahestry_. She could feel the pull of it - the way it disturbed the flow of energy around her. She could practically taste it on the air. How had she overlooked this until now? She crouched on the rooftop, terrified of what this might mean.

The front doors to the hospital burst open and Mustang strode out, confident as a seeing man. Ashika could tell by the angle of his shoulders and the force of his step that he was furious. A strange power wreathed him, neither Alchemy nor Alkahestry. It was something deep and ancient and furious. Ashika shrank back in spite of herself. What _was_ this thing?

Behind him trailed two uniformed soldiers: the grey-haired Falman and Lieutenant Breda. Both men wore fearful, guarded expressions. They kept their distance from the General, as though afraid to be caught up in the power they could not see.

A fourth figure glided out a moment later. A Xingese woman - Ashika recognized the dark hair and silk clothing immediately. The shape of her eyes stirred up memories of her teacher. Ashika hissed through her teeth. This woman felt _just like_ Jiao; she wore Alkahestric power like a skin. Her spirit moved with the flow of chi, as effortless as breathing. Ashika's chest tightened as long-buried regret and child-like longing drove through her.

The woman hurried after Mustang, sharp eyes intent on his back. She strode several paces down the path before she stopped, body stiff. Every line of her conveyed wariness. The Xingese woman sank into a half-crouch, hand moving to the kunai at her belt. She seemed to sniff the air for a moment before she looked up. She stared directly at the tower where Ashika hid.

This Ishvalan girl cursed and shrank away from the ledge. She could not be sure the woman spotted her, but one thing was certain: the stranger could sense her. The Xingese woman knew she was here, and - if she desired - seek her out. Ashika hid for the span of one hundred fluttering heartbeats before she dared look down at the path below. By that time, the Xingese woman was gone.

-o-o-o-

He followed. Followed his commander as he had for so many years. But this time it was not towards a greater goal. He did not follow out of loyalty or devotion. He followed out of fear. Fear of what Mustang might do.

"Breda," Falman murmured at his side. "Do you think we should...?"

Breda shook his head, though he was unsure if it was to reassure Falman or simply quiet him. Ahead, Mustang strode with eerie purpose - shoulders rigid and uncompromising, face hidden in the glare of the noonday sun. His two subordinates struggled to keep up; Ishvalan sand dragged at their feet and they sunk and scrambled in odd places. The Xingese woman trailed them, silent as a shadow. Mustang himself seemed unencumbered; he swept forward like fire over dry prairie grass.

Breda could not help the cry of frustration that escaped as his feet slid and he nearly fell for the third time. He could not believe it had come to this. Things had not been the same since they moved from Eastern Headquarters. Not one of Mustang's team was left untouched. Havoc remained behind in Central; he would likely need a cane for the rest of his life. Breda, Fuery, and Falmen were sent away to war-ravaged lands, their careers halted on the suspicions of the then-Fuhrer. Now this. Riza, their beautiful queen, lay unconscious in a hospital bed. Their keystone, gone.

And it was tearing Mustang apart. Breda could see it - had seen it - slowly wear on his commander for weeks, a growing burden he refused to let others bear. An uncertainty ever masked by confidence, hidden in the flurry of their preparations for Ishval. The General lost more than his eyesight on the Promised Day: He was losing control - his sense of self. And now Breda could feel the true ferocity of Mustang's anger, more blinding than vision lost.

Mustang walked toward the ruined city, all hesitation gone. The long stretch of sand between the Amestrian base and Ishval radiated heat in a shimmering mirage; the abandoned buildings looked as though submerged in a hot lake. The intensity of the moment - so real, so undiluted, so _heavy _- pressed down on Breda like a hand. Soon his uniform was soaked through with sweat. He hurried forward, struggling to keep up with the General's longer strides.

"Sir -" Breda began when he managed to reach Mustang's side.

"Do not interfere, Lieutenant."

No. He could not let this happen. Breda reached out to take hold of Mustang's arm. "Roy." The word was harsh, without warmth or familiarity. It was a soft, insistent command.

Mustang stopped. His entire body was stiff, stretched taught - ready to snap. "Let. Go."

Breda's grip tightened. "No _Sir_."

"Lieutenant, that was an order."

Breda did not move. He could not follow such a command. He did not know this man, this angry person that was not his commander. He did not trust this strange power. Something seemed to radiate off Mustang in sizzling rivulets, and Breda fought a sudden urge to release the General's arm and run for cover. Both soldier's breaths came heavy - one man panicked, the other vengeful. The heat of this moment beat down on them, more intense than the Ishvalan sun.

"Roy," Breda said softly. "Whatever it is you think to do, don't."

"Take your hand off my arm, Breda."

"This isn't the way," he said. His voice lowered further, hardly a murmur. "She... she wouldn't want it this way."

For a moment, Mustang's expression cracked. Through the rift, Breda could see a man: lost, alone, and blind. And suddenly he understood Hawkeye's quiet hands and wary eyes. Why she always stood near Mustang, hovering and watchful. Riza knew the man that dwelt beneath layers of command, confidence, and alchemic power. She knew his true face. Riza was his guardian, his protector - shielding him from his own darkness. And now she wasn't here.

Mustang must have sensed Breda's hesitance. He took advantage of the moment, shrugging off the Lieutenant's hand with ease. He turned away without a backwards glance and started towards the city. Breda merely stood, reasoning and intellect lost in the wake of another man's blind rage. He stared after Mustang, helpless.

"What do we do, Sir?" Falman's clipped tone sounded strange in this wild, hot place.

"Follow him," Breda said grimly. "Keep him out of trouble as best we can." He turned to look at Falman, only to have his eyes fall on the stranger in their midst - the Xingese woman. She balanced on her toes as though ready to spring forward, eyes following Mustang with fierce intensity. Breda reached out to grasp her elbow. "Hey."

"Do not touch me." The woman made a smooth movement - hardly more than a flick of her wrist - and she shed Breda's grip with ease. She hardly glanced at him, eyes still pinned on the retreating back of the General. "We must follow him. We must not delay." She started forward without another word, a garish, red-clad thing in a sea of golden sand.

Breda growled and stumbled after her. "Wait! Who the hell _are _you? What is happening to him?" He reached for her elbow to demand her attention, but she stepped out of his reach without a sideways glance. "How is he doing this?"

Falman fell in beside Breda. "She is the General's teacher," he said. "Her name is Suyin -"

"I don't give a flying fuck _what _she teaches," Breda seethed. "What is happening to him? What happened in there, in the hospital?"

Suyin hardly paused. She strode ever forward, feet hardly making impressions in the sand. "I do not know," she mused. "It is Alkahestry, but it is... _not _Alkahestry. He is using it to See."

"What the hell does that mean?" Breda scrambled to keep up with her, his military boots delving deep in the loose earth. "Hey! Answer me!"

"I do not know," Suyin said again. "I did not teach him this thing."

"There's something wrong. It must be twisting his mind. He would never -"

"That is not the way of things," Suyin cut in smoothly. "Alkahestry does not taint those that use it. It is merely a tool, malleable to its user." She made a small gesture at her side, palm down, hand like a blade. "This anger is his own."

"Can you stop it? You know how Alkahestry works, right? Just fix it so he can't use it or something..."

"No," Suyin said. "I do not know this power. It is something more." She made the gesture again, this time forcefully. "There is something evil brewing in this land. Can you not feel it?" She shook her head as though trying to clear it. "Can you not see it?"

The two soldiers exchanged glances. Breda licked his lips, considering. "Can... will you help us?"

"I am unsure." Suyin's voice seemed to come from far away. "It is not in my nature to interfere."

"Not in your nature...?" Breda surged forward and nearly struck the woman before Falman managed to catch hold of his arm. "Why are you here, then? Why are you following us? You _have _to help us!" he shouted, roughly pulling free from Falman's grip. "You can't tell us these things and not help us!" He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. He needed answers. Things were quickly spiraling out of control.

At this Suyin did turn - a mere glance, nothing more than a brief tip of her chin. But even in that short moment, Breda could see a black kind of wisdom in her eyes. And deeper - secret and hidden - he saw fear. She was terribly afraid.

Breda wanted to scream at her. To shout and seethe. He wanted to ask her _why _she was afraid - why _he _should be afraid. Instead his voice caught in his throat. It came out weak and pitiful, almost pleading. "Help us."

Suyin sighed. For the first time she turned to look at him, meeting his eyes without blinking. Breda could see himself there: his despair and helplessness reflected in the dark pools of her eyes. He could not look away from her.

It was a long time before Suyin answered. When she did, the words sank into the Ishvalan sand.

"I do not know how."

-o-o-o-

Tiles crumbled beneath Ashika's feet as she flitted across the rooftops. The Xingese woman stood out like a smear of blood next to the soldier blues, but it was difficult to track them. Ashika slipped and scrabbled over the uneven footing; it was difficult to keep the group ahead within her line of sight. Mustang pressed ever onward, never seeming to tire. Ashika was forced to make her way over the most treacherous roofs to follow them. She was becoming sloppy and careless, desperate to keep up. Yet no one in the group ahead seemed to hear her, even as tiles loosed and shattered on the street below.

Ashika's initial terror was now replaced with tight anticipation. Things were moving just as she planned. She hoped he would take the bait, the all-too obvious signal. She planted the sign on the Captain's back with some hope that Mustang's blindness went further than sight alone. She was right all along. He truly did love her. His greatest weakness, free and open for her to exploit.

The Ishvalan girl paused a moment to look towards the streets ahead. The crowded, ruined buildings masked her destination - _his_ destination - but she knew where Mustang's feet pointed. She knew what he intended. She knew the moment she saw his hateful face, the cold look in his eyes. He had the same look when he murdered her mother.

-o-o-o-

She was trapped. Bound. Tethered by the black. Unseen hands held her down. She could not move.

_Help me!_

She saw things yet did not see them. A girl, scarred and vicious. Red stones and red eyes. A shining, secret gun. A damp place where the sound of dripping water sent echoes off the stony walls. A knife, with a long, wicked and shining blade. She saw sun-bright fire. And him. _Him_. Walking away from her, into a fathomless darkness. She could not follow him. Not there.

_No_.

Riza could not form the word, but her soul shrieked it into the black. She fought against the bindings but they held her fast. She felt smothered, as though caught under a hot, wet blanket. She could not break free.

_No. Stop, Roy!_

And still he walked away from her. His back dwindled. She could see his shoulders, so thin under a coat meant to make him look more substantial than he truly was. He did not look back. Soon he was swallowed by darkness.

_No! Roy! Stop! Please stop!_

She could not follow. _She could not follow!_ Hot tears pricked at her eyes and her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

_Please!_

-o-o-o-

Breda was panting heavily by the time he caught up with his commander again. With each step, his panic grew. They were quickly nearing the Resistance hideout. He could not let this happen. "Sir -! Stop!"

Mustang did not reply. He strode ever forward, as relentless and unstoppable as a fire in the wilderness.

The Resistance hideout was an understandably nondescript place: a ruin nestled amongst ruins. No one might guess it housed a band of Ishvalans that conspired against the soldiers sent to save them. Mustang strode towards it without fear. He stopped thirty paces from the entrance. Breda, Falman, and Suyin quickly ducked behind a short wall nearby. Together they crouched, out of sight.

"Sir!" Breda called in a harsh whisper. He peered around the edge of the wall. Mustang stood at the very center of the square, open and vulnerable. "Please come away from there!"

Mustang seemed not to hear. After all the scrabbling and rush, he was suddenly and completely still. It terrified Breda, though he could not say why. The General's hands clenched at his sides. "Come out!" he bellowed. "Come out, cowards! I know you're in there!"

"Sir -!" Breda dared a muted shout. He felt sick. "Please!"

"Come out! Come out and face me!"

"Wait here," Breda murmured to Falman and Suyin. He stepped out from behind the wall, feeling far too visible. He eyed the Resistance base with trepidation. "Roy! Stop this!" he barked.

"Stay _back_, Breda."

"I..." Breda's heart nearly stopped when the door the hideout swept open.

Shane, the Ishvalan who confronted Mustang in the tent, stepped out. A dozen others soon followed. They formed a half-circle around the General, flanking him, leaving little room for escape. Shane glared at the General with pure, undiluted hatred. "What are you doing here, Mustang?" he sneered. "How _dare _you come here?"

Mustang regarded the Ishvalan in equal measure; his blank eyes somehow still _saw_."Tell me why," he said. "Tell me why you did it."

Shane's brows furrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. He exchanged a dark, meaningful glance with an Ishvalan at his side.

"You _know _what I'm talking about," Mustang seethed. "_Why_ did you do it_?_" He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a glove. Fearful murmurs swept through the crowd of Ishvalans. Blades appeared with the soft sound of metal on fabric. One of the men stooped down to pick up a stone. He tossed it into the air, up and down. Over and over. Threat upon threat.

"I told you - I don't know what you're talking about," Shane said angrily. "Leave. Now."

Mustang's hand clenched over the glove. "You did it! I _know _it was you. I saw what you left."

"We didn't do anything," Shane said. "You selfish, _selfish _man! It is _you _who wronged _us_. Don't blame us for something we didn't do."

"You're lying," Mustang said. He pulled on his glove in one smooth motion. Ishvalans stirred again, this time a few men in the group stepped back as though preparing to flee. They knew the wrath of the Flame Alchemist, the Ishvalan Murderer. So many of their fathers and brothers, cousins and uncles died at the hand of this man. Breda watched their fear and unease grow. Nothing good could come of this. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Falman appear from behind the wall. He looked as afraid as Breda felt.

Mustang snarled, gloved hand fisted at his side. "You attacked her. Why did you do it?"

Shane stood tall, outwardly unafraid. "I'm telling you, it wasn't us, you conniving bastard." His words and confidence seemed to embolden the others. A murmur of assent traveled through the group of Ishvalans.

"Don't lie!" Mustang shrieked. "_You_ did it!"

The Ishvalan with the stone stepped forward, face twisted into something hateful and ugly. "Wenever lie! Not like you!" He threw it with all his might, catching Mustang just above one eye. The General cried out and stumbled, blood streaming down his face.

"Sir -!" Breda shouted. He rushed to Mustang's side. "Are you alright?"

Mustang let out a low, animal moan. He suddenly looked unbalanced, gaze roving over the ground at his feet. He threw his hands out as though to catch onto something - anything. As Breda approached, he looked up, eyes more blank than the Lieutenant had ever seen them. And suddenly Breda knew Mustang was blind. The strange vision that guided him here was gone. Breda reached out to take hold of his elbow.

"Get off me!" Mustang hissed. He pushed Breda away and raised his gloved hand in the direction of the Ishvalans. Breda gasped. Mustang could no longer see, but he remembered where to aim. He was going to kill every one of them.

The Ishvalans cried out, scrambling over one another as they struggled to stay out of his path. Only Shane remained, glowering at the General as though daring him to go through with it. As though daring Mustang to make him a martyr.

"Sir," Breda screamed. "I can't let you do this!"

"Don't get in my way, Breda!"

"Roy, please! Think about what you're doing!"

"Don't interfere! They earned this!" Despite his words, Roy's hand shook. A shadow of doubt crossed his face. "They earned this," he said again, softly. Breda saw Mustang's lips move silently. A single word. A name. _Riza_. A lost, desperate look stole over his face and blue electricity laced between his fingers: the gathering light of alchemy.

Breda stepped forward, hand outstretched. "No -!"

Mustang snapped. To Breda's ears it was the sound of all their work shattering to pieces. He could not let this happen. He had to do something before things were ruined beyond repair. And so he did something both very brave and very stupid: He stepped into the fire's path.

It was surprisingly painless. A whip-thin line streaked diagonally across Breda's chest from shoulder to hip. He heard a soft ripping noise like a strip of linen pulled from a sheet. He glanced down to see his skin flay open. It did not bleed. Though deep, the heat seared the wound as it cut. In some places he could see bone. He should have been horrified, yet through it all he felt strangely detached. This could not be real. Everything about this situation spoke of dreams and the impossible.

Then came the pain, bringing him to the unforgiving present. Breda screamed and crumpled to the ground.

"Breda!" Falman's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Breda!" The older soldier was at his side in a moment. Breda felt a thin hand slip below his head, pillowing it. He moaned as his ears filled with a horrible roaring. Cutting through it, Breda could hear the sound of Shane's cruel laughter.

"Breda!" Falman cried. He hefted Breda up and braced his back with one arm.

"Did I...?" Breda gasped. "Did I stop it?"

It was a strange thing to see Falman look so stricken. He was always so calm, so impassive. He rested his hand on Breda's shoulder and squeezed much harder than he likely intended. "It didn't get through," he said. "You stopped it."

"Good," Breda breathed. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision and the world began to spin. "Good."

"What... what happened?" Mustang's voice cut through the pain like a shot. "Breda...?"

"Mustang," Shane laughed. "You _blind _fool. You can't even _see _what you _did_." Breda saw Falman's head jerk up, suddenly panicked. Mustang could not know. It would crush him.

"What to do you mean?" Mustang breathed. "What happened?"

"You hit your own man, Mustang," Shane said. He said each word slowly, with condemning weight. "You burned one of your own."

"Breda...? Falman?" Roy's voice was small and childlike. "What happened? What did I do?" Breda could hear the General stumble and curse - blind once more and this time truly lost.

"Wait! Sir!" Falman shouted. He looked as though he were about to rise, but stopped when Breda let out a pained gasp. Falman cursed. "He's still alive, Sir! He -!" he stopped, suddenly realizing how cutting the truth could be. He looked down at Breda, lost. Terrified. Both men shook, a quivering mess of sweaty uniforms and burned flesh.

Mustang let out a long moan, crouched in a place where Breda could not see. The cry built, slowly rising into an agonized keen. It spoke of grief and loss. Mustang was mourning Breda even as he died.

Thing were growing darker now. Falman's face was hardly more than a blur of flesh above him. Breda reached up to cover his friend's hand with his. He tried to speak, but it hurt too much. Each breath tore through his chest.

"Stand aside," a woman's voice said. A figure suddenly appeared behind Falman's shoulder. The afternoon light haloed her, obscuring her features, but Breda knew it was Suyin by the curves. "Let me see him. Let me see."

Breda tried not to cry out as Falman gently lowered him to the ground, but a whimper escaped before he could stop it. He was finding it hard to breathe now - like a band wound around his chest, tighter and tighter. He gasped for air.

Suyin knelt next to him. Her hand was cool on his forehead. "Calm," she murmured. Five tiny blades materialized in her other hand; sunlight flashed and the air around them seemed to still. Breda sank ever deeper; the world grew dark. He barely heard Suyin when she spoke again. "Breathe."

Then there was white light and thick silence, and he knew no more.

-o-o-o-

Fuery did not mind being left behind. He preferred it, really. He wasn't meant for action - not like Breda and the others. His parents were shocked when he told them he enlisted, but he never had plans to be a war hero. He knew the military was the only place where he would have access to the newest technologies. He was content to remain in the background while others did greater, louder things.

He enjoyed the quiet - the times spent tinkering into the wee hours of the night. But for once, he wished they hadn't left him alone. This hospital room was too still - blanketed by a reverent silence he dared not breech. Even her breaths were soundless, made real only by the soft rise and fall of her chest beneath the too-starched sheets.

Fuery reluctantly glanced at his superior's unconscious face. He always admired Hawkeye for her quiet confidence, her steadfast devotion. She was as unchanging as a stone. To see her made weak and vulnerable filled him despair. His rational mind struggled to come to terms with it.

Fuery wasn't sure what to make of what happened in the room earlier. He had never seen the General so angry. It frightened him. Not even Breda knew what to do. Fuery curled in on himself, suddenly feeling more alone than ever.

He almost missed the glimmer of light on her cheek. It was a tiny thing, sparking in and out of existence in an instant - something shiny enough to catch light from the nearby window. It took a moment for Fuery to recognize what it was: A single tear. Hawkeye was crying in her sleep.

"...Captain?" he called hesitantly.

The lieutenant let out a soft moan and her hands clenched on the sheets. She took a deep, sleepy breath through her nose. Her eyelids fluttered open.

Fuery slowly rose from his chair. "Captain?" he said, louder. "Ma'am?"

Riza blinked and groaned again, reaching up to rub one temple. "Mmmph." Her voice was hoarse, but to Fuery's ears, it sounded as pure and beautiful as a bell. She lifted the other hand to cradle her face in her hands. "My head."

Fuery could hardly speak as relief, concern, and joy threatened to overwhelm him. Though she'd only been unconscious a few short hours, a part of him feared she might never wake. "Hawkeye!" he managed.

Riza lifted her head, suddenly seeming to recognize the sight of hospital-starched sheets and aseptic tile. "What? ...Fuery? What am I doing here?"

"Ma'am!" Fuery said. "You're okay!" He wanted to rush forward and hug her, but was afraid of somehow disturbing the miracle of her waking. She was too delicate to be touched. So he contented himself with shifting excitedly from foot to foot.

"Why am I in the infirmary?" Her voice sounded stronger by the moment. She sat up slowly, wincing in pain. "Why does my head _hurt _like this?"

Fuery frowned. "You were injured, Ma'am."

"Injured?" Riza ran her hands over her arms and face. "I feel fine."

Fuery's relief vanished. He frowned, suddenly concerned. Something wasn't right. How could she not know? "Captain...?"

Riza rubbed her temples again. "The only thing that hurts is my head. Did I fall?"

"No, Captain..." Fuery pursed his lips. "It was your back. Your back was cut. We think you were attacked. Are you alright?"

"...My back?" A look of fear crossed Riza's face and she reached back to touch one shoulder under her hospital gown. She gasped. "How...?" She slid her hand down to her spine. "Where are my...? What happened to me?"

"Captain?" Fuery stepped closer, growing more concerned. "Is something wrong? Are you in pain? I can call the nurse..."

"No..." Riza said absentmindedly. "I... my scars... they're not... What _happened _to me, Fuery?"

Fuery's breath hitched. "You don't remember?"

Riza shook her head, then grimaced and pressed her fingers against her temples. "I remember... going to my flat last night... I was reading... and then..." She blinked. "I don't... I can't..." Her lost expression made Fuery's heart ache. "I can't remember." She reached up to touch her back again. "You say my _back _was injured?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"How? I don't feel _anything_." She sounded terribly afraid. "It's _smooth_."

He dared another step closer. He was at the bedside now. "Suyin healed you, Captain. You might have died if it weren't for her. The General was beside himself -" Fuery sucked in a breath. Any more might lead to questions he was not ready to answer. It had been over two hours since the others left, and he had yet to hear word of what happened. Fuery shuddered. The General looked so angry when he left. In all his years working under Mustang, he'd never seen his face look that way - like life had ended and all was lost.

Riza had grown very still. She studied Fuery, clear eyes searching his. She knew something was wrong. "Fuery," she said slowly. "Where is the General?

Fuery started. "I..."

"Fuery."

"He... was the one that found you, Ma'am..."

A shadow crossed Riza's face. "Where is he?"

Fuery quailed. "He was angry... upset."

Hawkeye reached out to grasp Fuery's wrist. "Where did he go, Fuery? Where _is _he?"

"I... he..." Fuery was cut short as a commotion sounded in the hallway outside. They could hear sand-covered boots scraping over the floor and harsh, hurried voices. Fuery and Riza exchanged worried glances. At a quick nod from his commander, Fuery started towards the door. He only made it a few paces before Falman stumbled into the room.

"Fuery! It's Breda! He's hurt!" Falman stopped short when his eyes fell on Hawkeye, awake and sitting up in the hospital bed. His mouth dropped. "Captain!" he gasped.

"Lieutenant Falman, what is going on?" Hawkeye said. She flipped back the covers as though to get out of bed, but as she began to shift her legs to the edge, she let out a soft moan and reached up to rub her forehead. Feury watched her warily, suddenly remembering Suyin's parting words. Why had she been so afraid?

Falman opened his mouth to reply, but stopped before he uttered a word. He glanced at Fuery, silently asking him what she knew.

"Lieutenant," Hawkeye clipped. Her eyes were closed, fingers rubbing in endless circles on her temples. "Tell me what happened. Immediately."

Falman swallowed thickly, eyes skittering everywhere but at Hawkeye. Fuery could veritably taste his reluctance. The Lieutenant looked exhausted and completely lost. A smudge of blood darkened his coat. Cold fear dropped in Fuery's gut. What happened out there in the desert? What had happened to Breda?

Falman took in a shuddering breath. "Ma'am..."

Hawkeye lifted her head. Framed by sunlight as she was, she looked every bit the chess piece Mustang so loved. Her voice was sonorous when she next spoke. Commanding.

"Tell me what happened."

-o-o-o-

Roy struggled to breathe. He didn't know where he was. He didn't care.

Suyin took him away from Ishval. Away from the harsh reality of what he did to one of his dearest and most trusted friends. She took him without a word, merely gripping his elbow and leading him away. He did not protest; he had not the strength. Neither of them spoke as they strode from the horrifying scene Roy could not see.

He was blind. He did not know Breda stepped in front of the flame. But he should have guessed his brave, _loyal _friend would stop at nothing to keep things from falling apart. Suyin did what she could for him, but he was still unconscious when Falman carried him away. Mustang could not bring himself to follow. He did not deserve to stand near them. He was such a fool.

Shane wanted no part of him. He jeered the broken General, telling him that he was a mistake, that what he did to his own was punishment enough. The group of Ishvalans turned away, leaving him alone but for Suyin. Clearly they no longer considered him a threat. He was blind. So very blind.

After nearly an hour walking over uneven terrain, Suyin stopped him, hand steady on his heaving chest. He knew he was somewhere deep in the desert, far outside the city limits. Though he could not see, he could tell by the desolate, whining wind that nothing but sand and rocks stretched in all directions. No man lived here. It was a place where only the hardiest animals survived. A place where the only person he could hurt was himself.

Suyin murmured only a few curt words, her Xingese accent thicker than he remembered - full of an ardor it did not have before. "There is a poison in you, Mustang," she said. "It seeks to consume you. You must purge it."

Then she left without a sound.

For a long time, Roy stood alone in the desert. He felt tenuous - like a drum stretched too tight. His chest vibrated with each breath. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run as far and as fast as he could - away from this desolate wasteland. He wanted to sink into unknowing unconsciousness. But he was too much a coward even for that. There was no escaping, no denying this monstrous thing. It would haunt him to his last breath.

A garbled shriek built in his throat. The desert wind called back with a hollow moan. It released something from him, but he needed more. He needed the world to know the unendurable pain that wracked him. His fingers itched, demanding that he rip the air, raze the earth, boil the sea. He wanted to make this all-consuming sorrow known.

He raised one gloved hand and snapped.

Fire. From ancient times man sought to tame it. He alone knew its inner workings: the equations that made the candle burn and the bonfire rage. He understood the reactions that drove combustion. He commanded the immutable proton, the restless electron. Oxidation and decomposition were his language, his tongue. But all these things - the cold, clinical breakdown of science - could not fully describe the true spirit of flame.

Fire was primal. So much more than light and heat, it had a spirit all its own. It was as fundamental as breathing. He remembered staring at the hearth for hours as a child, fascinated by the way the embers glowed and breathed as though alive. Even then he knew he had fire in his heart. Flame was unpredictable. Untamed. It called to him, as inexorable as the dawn, and he sought to master it. Roy spent his life learning the secrets of fire, and from the first time he created it, a deep part of him exalted in its pure, unbridled power.

And now he called it forth, so the world could know his despair. So it could be made tangible. He could not see the flames, but he did not need to. He felt the pull of oxygen as he gathered it from the ever-changing wind. He felt the molecules split and remake themselves, creating water where there was none before. Oxygen, hydrogen, combustion. This was the language he spoke. It was the only way he could express the emotion that threatened to consume him.

The flame wreathed him. Cradled him. It roiled past his body in dark, heated waves that beat against his uniform and made his skin shining and wet. He did not care. He could not feel the blaze; there was no room for it in him. The flames were nothing compared to the fire that wrapped his soul. He was broken, no longer whole - snapped in twain by grief and regret. And he knew - he _knew _- he would be damned for all eternity. The others - even Breda - may forgive him one day, but he would never forgive himself.

Never.

-o-o-o-

She watched from afar as he disappeared behind a whirlwind of fire. She could no longer see him, but she knew he stood at its very center, a man grieving and without hope. She could sense his chi, more alive and vibrant than she'd ever felt it. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Things did not play out exactly as she planned, but it did not matter. She could feel the heat of his despair even from here. She broke him, just as she always wished. Now it was time to destroy him completely.

A dark smile spread on her lips. Her lidless eyes reflected the firelight, brighter than the Ishvalan sun.

-o-o-o-

**A/N: It's been a while since I last posted. Sorry, folks. Rest assured: I am committed to finishing this story. Most days.**

**Regarding reviews: Thank you. So much. Each chapter gets harder and harder to write. At times, your comments were the only thing that pulled me through. I appreciate every person who follows this story, and I care very much about what you all think.**

**Thanks especially to mebh and Thousand Sunny Lyon for their support, and to the amazing ****Disastergirl**** for her excellent beta work. Read her stuff!**

**Next Chapter: Slap**


	13. Slap

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 13: Slap ( / slăp / )**

**1) **_**noun**_** - a sharp insult**

**2) **_**verb**_** - to put or place quickly or carelessly**

**3) **_**verb**_** - to put a sudden end to; suppress**

**4) **_**noun**_** - the sound of a blow made with an open hand**

-o-o-o-

Falman waked into the hospital, sunburned and bone-tired. He spent the past several hours salvaging pieces left from the events of the past day. The chain of command was in disarray after Hawkeye was discovered in her apartment; the soldiers were confused and worried, unsure of what was to come. Falman struggled to maintain order. Many of the troops – including ones that ranked above him - were ready to spring into action. Most assumed the Ishvalans were to blame for what happened. It took the better part of the day for Falman to get things settled and arrange a concerted effort to investigate the attack.

Fortunately, no one seemed to know what happened in the ruins of Ishval, though speculation on Breda's injuries spread through the ranks. Most was useless conjecture. Many assumed it was another strike from the persons responsible for the attack on Captain Hawkeye, though some rumors brushed too close to the truth. Falman managed to conceal details of Breda's wounds, but it would only be a matter of time before one of the medics accidentally revealed that the lieutenant had been burned. Harder still would be hiding Mustang's suspicious disappearance in the wake of what happened.

The door to Riza's room opened as Falman approached. Out stumbled a weary Fuery. Falman could see by the dark smudges under the sergeant's eyes that he had not rested since they parted earlier that day. As he neared, Falman searched Fuery's face for any sign that something happened while he was away. The younger man shook his head, flashing him a reassuring smile. Falman let out a long breath. _Good_, he thought. _They're both okay._ He made his way to the wall outside Riza's door and leaned against it. Fuery slid down the opposite wall across from him. The two soldiers were silent for a while, each staring at the floor, lost in thought.

After a time, Falman glanced up at his companion. "How is Breda?"

"He's doing okay," Fuery said. "The doctors don't know what to make of it."

"You mean how Suyin healed him?"

"Yeah," Fuery said. "They've never seen Alkahestry before, I suppose. They're baffled." Fuery's mouth twisted into a frown. "The important thing is… they think he'll pull through."

"Has he woken up yet?"

Fuery shook his head. "Not yet. The doctors say it's only a matter of time, though." He stared down at his boots. "I'm not sure what I'll say to him when he does." The sergeant shrank against the wall, suddenly looking much younger and smaller than he was. "You think he'll remember what happened?"

Falman did not reply, opting only to run his fingers through sweat-soaked hair. What _would_ happen when Breda woke? What could he say to his friend? To a man that chose to step in front of flames to save them all from certain disaster? How Breda would feel about his choice on waking was still a mystery. He would probably be just as lost and afraid as he and Fuery felt now.

Underlying everything, Mustang's absence weighed heavily on Falman's conscience. In his haste to get Breda back to camp, he left the general in the Ishvalan ruins under the care of Suyin, a stranger. No one had seen him since. Falman had not yet sent a search party for fear of someone discovering the truth. No one could know their commander – the man that was supposed to be a pillar of strength and virtue – had lost control. Mustang would almost certainly be dismissed. It would destroy everything they worked so long and hard to achieve. Worse, the Ishvalan leaders may never trust Amestris again. Falman prayed the Ishvalan Resistance group would remain silent on the matter, but he knew it would be a miracle if they did.

"How is… she?" Falman asked.

Fuery started, then glanced up briefly to meet Falman's eyes. "She's sleeping now." His hands fidgeted uselessly on his lap. "She wanted to... go out and find him, but..."

Falman nodded. He had been the one to tell Captain Hawkeye what happened with Breda and Mustang in the desert. Her expression would forever be branded in his memory: lost, desperate, but at the same time… knowing. As though she had always expected something like this to happen. Hawkeye had quickly slipped into command mode, spitting orders while at the same time shifting to the edge of the bed, ready to act. But her injuries had taken their toll; she was still terribly weak. Her legs buckled the moment her feet touched the floor. She would have fallen if Falman had not been there to catch her.

"She wasn't happy," Fuery continued. "The doctors ordered her to stay in bed. I've never seen her so…" The young man shook his head and pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes. "They gave her something to help her sleep."

Falman leaned his head back against the wall. He felt so lost. For so many years, he had been the subordinate – the underling, ready to follow orders at a moment's notice. Now he was suddenly thrust into a role of command. He was not prepared for this. It was overwhelming.

"Falman," Fuery said softly. "What are we gonna do? Do you think we should go out and find the General?"

"I don't know," Falman sighed. "We can't leave Breda and Hawkeye alone. We still don't know who attacked the Captain. We have to protect…" Falman trailed off, unsure of _what_ he meant to say. Had to protect who? Hawkeye? Breda? Mustang? It was just the two of them now – him and Fuery – and there were so many parts in play. How would they keep this terrible secret? How could they hold things together when everything threatened to fall apart?

Falman slid down the wall, joining Fuery on the cold, hard tile. He leaned forward to rest his forehead on his knees. He felt so lost. He needed help. He needed a commander.

Where was Mustang?

-o-o-o-

The night was cool by the time Suyin collected him from the desert. He was seated on a rock when she found him: a lone man, spent like a pile of ash and charcoal. He was unsure what time it was. It seemed as though days had passed since he first came here, though he knew by the rapidly cooling air that it was just turning night. Mustang shivered in his sweat-soaked coat as he struggled to fight off waves of exhaustion and regret.

"Mustang."

He lifted his head. "Suyin," he said. His voice came out hoarse, parched from the heat of his own flame. "You've come to take me back."

"Yes," she said. It was odd the way Suyin spoke. She always seemed to say things as though they were absolute truth. He heard a swish of silk as she came to stand to his left.

"I see," Mustang said. He leaned back and tipped his head toward stars he could not see. "And what if I were to say I don't want to go back?"

Another shift of silk – this time he knew it to be a shrug. "It is your choice," she said simply. "It will always be your choice, Mustang. Just as you chose what you did today. You hurt one of your own men in anger. Now you must choose what you will do next."

Mustang smiled ruefully. "You always this blunt?"

"Yes," she said. "I do not see value in hiding truth."

His smiled darkened, becoming sickly and crass. "I suppose there is something to that."

"It has always served me well."

"Mm," Mustang said softly. He paused and lowered his head to sightlessly regard the sand beside him. "And… have you ever had to face something like this? Have you ever hurt -" His voice caught. It was too hard to even think about, let alone utter aloud.

He was surprised to feel Suyin settle on the rock beside him. Not close enough to touch, but he could feel her warmth radiating on his shoulder - a small comfort on a night that felt so cold and bleak . He heard her take in a great breath and sigh before she spoke, as though she found the words difficult to say aloud. "I… have not known you long, Mustang… but you are a man of honor." She paused, considering for a moment. "Such men do not run from their fate."

"A man of honor?" he laughed bitterly. He shivered again and hugged his coat closer; the chill night bit down to his very core.

"Yes," she said simply, in that matter-of-fact way of hers. "You may not see it, but others do. This is why they follow you."

Mustang shook his head. "They won't follow me anymore. Not after what I did."

Suyin did not reply for a long time. In the distance, a coyote howled – a long, keening wail that sent new chills through him. Suyin surprised him again when she rested her hand on his shoulder. Her hands were small; he noticed them when she first began to train him. Small but strong - so much like Riza's. "Perhaps," said Suyin. "Perhaps that is your fate. But you will never know unless you find the strength to meet it."

Mustang closed his eyes as pain washed over him in wave after crushing wave. "My… fate," he whispered. Suyin was right: He had to go back. He had to face the others. But he would not return for the reasons Suyin assumed. He knew his fate long ago; he could not escape the crimes he committed in Ishval, nor could he escape what he did to Breda. He had to seek the punishment he deserved. And to do that, he needed to face the woman who promised to keep him from going astray.

Mustang pushed up from the rock, only then appreciating each ache in his body, the profound weakness after hours spent in alchemy. He swayed for a moment before he found his feet. He felt completely spent, too numb to feel. But he was ready – prepared to face the choice he made so many years ago. The air around him seemed to thrum, an energy of anticipation, of looming closure.

Mustang pressed his lips into a determined line. "Let's go."

-o-o-o-

Ashika darted through the streets of Ishval, mind reeling. Her hands trembled, quaking with anticipation and excitement. Things were in motion now. Only a few more steps and she would find the revenge she sought. Years of planning and training and _waiting _come to fruition. She could have ended it there, in the desert. It would have been so simple. Mustang was on his own, vulnerable and blind. It would have been a small thing to destroy him with the Philosopher's stone. But she wanted his end to be more momentous. She wanted to crush him.

Her decision to leave Mustang to his grief was also tempered by the presence of that irritating Xingese woman. Ashika could sense her presence nearby, always hovering just outside the circle of Mustang's flame. Ashika was attuned to her now; she would never make the mistake of letting the stranger spot her again. The woman seemed to be keeping watch over the Flame Alchemist, quietly stepping in to fill the void left by the sniper captain. It was unnerving – not a part of Ashika's plans. She was not prepared for an alkahestrist in Ishval.

More unsettling was the strange power Mustang now wielded. It was clear he used it to find the hideout, but she was unsure of its inner workings. Ashika studied both alchemy and alkahestry; her knowledge of both chi and science was broad. But the thing that emanated from the general was something else entirely. It frightened her. She needed time to think.

Stealing a glance in either direction, Ashika ducked into an alley between two ruined buildings. It led to a dark crevice hidden from the streets. She knew this place well - better than any other in the city. She could find it with eyes closed on the darkest night.

They found the cave by accident, after they fled the medical tent and the mad-eyed man who destroyed it. Ashika remembered how the desert air stung her burns as she pulled Devon along by the hand. He followed silently, a passive shadow; he hadn't spoken in days. They stumbled through drifts of sand and raced across hard-baked plazas. She did not know where to flee, only that she had to keep her brother safe.

Ashika closed her eyes and stumbled as memory washed over her. She could feel the heat and terror of that day as clearly as though it were yesterday. She reached out to brace herself on the cool stone just inside the cave, overcome.

_Agne's lungs burned. She and Devon had run for at least an hour. They had no destination, no direction. Agne only knew they had to get away. Abandoned buildings loomed on either side, dark and threatening. Agne guided her brother between them, eyeing the black windows with unease. After a time, they reached an area ruined early in the war after a crushing strike from the Crimson Alchemist. The houses were more broken here, not much more than piles of rubble. With a whispered word of command to her brother, Agne pulled him into a long-abandoned plaza that looked somewhat sheltered from the elements. _

_They had only gone a few paces when she noticed the ground made hollow sounds beneath their feet. Had she not paused, she would have missed it. A puff of damp air hit her face. In the desert - where water is a scarce, precious resource - one took note of such things. The moist air seemed to come from a pile of rubble not far away. She stumbled toward it, pulling her brother along by the hand. They found a dark opening that angled beneath the broken streets._

_She smelled moisture the instant she entered. Cool air rushed over her scars and she heard the sound of distant, dripping water. For the first time in days, Agne allowed herself a small ray of hope. Water. This could save them. Agne shuffled further into the entrance. The darkness inside seemed blinding after the bright glare of the Ishvalan sun. She held tight to Devon's hand and tugged him forward, running the other along the stone wall as a guide. Together, they inched into the black. _

_Not far into the entrance, she heard a deep crack from under her feet, followed by the the sound of shifting stones. She paused, holding her breath, but nothing stirred. They started forward again. Another crack - this time louder. Agne turned to push Devon against the wall but it was too late. The ground crumbled beneath them and they tumbled into the darkness, a mess of arms and rubble and sweat-soaked bandages. Agne heard Devon cry out – once – the first time she heard his voice in weeks. She must have hit her head for she did not remember the remainder of the fall._

_Agne woke to the sound of distant, dripping water. A chill damp had settled into her skin, and she shivered. She felt something shift next to her: Devon, by the feel of the sharp hipbone jabbing into her side. Her entire body ached and the burns stung, reopened and sand-splashed from their fall. But her hand touched water as she pushed herself to her feet. They'd found a hidden reservoir - one of the last remaining few in Ishval. An oasis in the desert. Their own personal miracle._

Ashika descended down a winding set of alchemically-carved stairs, footsteps echoing hollowly against the walls. Back then, when they first discovered this place, they had only a steep path in the darkness. Ashika remembered climbing over the slippery, mist-damp stones to reach the water. Now a line of ever-burning torches lit the way – a discovery she made while studying alkahestry. Many things were different now.

She rounded the final corner and entered the tunnel leading to the cavern where she and Devon lived for so many months. The stone bars she erected to keep her brother from escaping were just as she left them. Ashika palmed the Philosopher's stone in one hand and the barrier dropped in a flash of red alchemic light. She entered the area, casting her gaze about for her brother. Things looked undisturbed: a circle of torches illuminated a small pile of supplies stacked next to their bedrolls. In the distance she could see a black glimmer of water – light reflected from the fathomless reservoir. It stretched into the darkness, past the point where she could see.

"Devon," she called. She heard a soft sound to her right, from the stone table where she kept her books and manuscripts. Her brother was seated cross-legged on the top, shuffling through her papers. He looked up at the sound of his name, mouth spread in an insane grin.

"Devon, what are you doing?" Ashika grated. "Get down from there."

Devon cocked his head, blinking at her quizzically.

"Come _here_."

He laughed; a burble of nonsensical words that echoed weirdly off the stone walls. He reached down and plucked a single sheet from the center of the table and slid to the floor. He started at her with too-large eyes, bouncing from foot to foot, fingers moving ceaselessly over the edge of the paper. Ashika strode toward him angrily and Devon leaped back, the edges of the sheet tearing under his hands. She froze as she recognized what he held: Her precious discovery. Devon had the sheet that bore the flame array she transcribed from Captain Hawkeye's back.

"Give that to me," Ashika said softly, struggling to keep her voice calm. She walked toward her brother slowly, hand outstretched. She was afraid to breathe. Any sudden movement might prove disastrous. "Give that to me now, Devon."

Devon let out a warbling laugh and hopped away from her. The page tore further, nearly marring the transmutation circle. Ashika's heart nearly stopped.

"Put that down, Devon," she said, her anger growing. She held out her hand, insistent. "Right. Now."

Her brother seemed to think she was playing a game. His laugh transformed into a maniacal giggle and he scurried outside the ring of torchlight, towards the reservoir. He jumped into the water with a resounding splash; soon he was ankle-deep. The sheet of paper made alarming crinkling noises beneath his fingers.

"Devon!" she shrieked. She had to stop him. He was going to ruin everything. Ashika reached inside her pocket to take hold of the Philosopher's stone, but she pulled away before she could touch it. She could not do it. She would not use her power on her brother again. Ashika quietly stepped to the water's edge. "Come out of there and give it to me this instant! I -" She stopped when her brother met her eyes. Savage, crimson - they did not recognize her. There was no feeling in them.

Devon's eyes never left hers as he lifted the transmutation circle before him like a banner. His hands clenched on the paper. Ashika could only watch as her brother tore the paper into two halves with merciless ease. She cringed as he ripped it again. And again. Over and over until it was nothing but tatters. Devon giggled and tossed the remnants into the air; they fluttered down to settle on the water like fallen leaves.

"What have you done?" she cried, watching ink leech from pieces and coat the water in an oily sheen. She stumbled forward into the frigid pool, grasping desperately at whatever scraps she could find. They were already soaked through; the array was ruined - nothing more than a smear of black and red. Growling, Ashika reached for the Philosopher's stone and transmuted. A few pieces came together, suddenly dry and seemingly unharmed, but the image was not restored. The transmutation circle was destroyed, beyond any recovery. With a cry, Ashika tore the half-mended sheet in her hands.

"You!" she spun to face her brother. Devon shrunk back, terror stealing over his face for the first time. Ashika sloshed through the water to take hold of his elbow. "Why did you do that?" She shook him. "Why, Devon?" She gripped him more firmly and shook him again, this time making his teeth rattle.

Devon merely mumbled something unintelligible, his expression confused and afraid. He tried to pull away from his sister, but Ashika's viselike grip allowed no escape. She tugged him closer with one hand and with the other struck him across the face. Devon cried out and struggled in her grasp, water sloshing about his ankles. He managed to tear free and scrabbled away on all fours, but Ashika caught him by the back of the belt and pushed him down. Devon fell on his side, thrashing wildly in the frigid water. Ashika was atop him in a moment, striking his face with her tiny fists.

"Why?" she shrieked. "Why?" She hardly took note of her brother's sputtering gasps as water splashed over his face. He tried to push her away, but Ashika was too strong, fueled by fury. Devon cried out meaningless, garbled words she did not understand. He was such a burden. She would never be rid of him; her brother was nothing but a reminder of her past mistakes. Her sin made flesh. "I hate you!" she shrieked. "I hate you!"

Devon screeched and struggled, finally managing to take hold of the front of Ashika's robes. She did not notice him take her knife until he pulled it from the sheath. With a cry, Devon slashed at her hands, catching the flash of one palm. Ashika screamed and pushed up from her brother to stumble away through the frothy pool.

"Devon!" she cried, clutching her hand. Blood streamed from the wound, mixing with the ink from the ruined array. She heard the sound of churning water and turned to see her brother at the opposite edge of the pool. She watched helplessly as he disappeared into the darkness.

-o-o-o-

Falman and Fuery jumped when a knock sounded at the entrance down the hall. Both soldiers rose to their feet as they watched one of the nurses quickly scuttle over to the door. She slid back a panel to speak to whoever stood outside. She only exchanged a few hushed words before she nodded and stepped back to unbolt the latch. The door swung open, revealing Mustang and Suyin.

"It's the General," Falman breathed. Mustang looked exhausted but unharmed, his hair stiff from dried sweat, his face pale and expressionless. He made his way wearily, suddenly seeming aged beyond his years. Suyin followed at his side, only touching his elbow every few steps to keep his path straight. Her cool expression betrayed nothing of what happened since Falman last saw them.

"Sir," Fuery said as the general neared. "Are… are you alright, Sir?"

"Fuery," Mustang said. His voice was whisper-soft, stretched thin and without substance. "I'm… fine." His fathomless eyes looked impossibly empty. "How is Breda?"

Fuery's mouth moved soundlessly, unable to form the words. Seeing the stricken look on the younger soldier's face, Falman broke in to fill the silence. "The doctors think he'll be alright, Sir, but he hasn't woken up yet."

"I see," the general said quietly.

"Sir, I… we…" Falman stammered.

Mustang shook his head. "It's alright, Lieutenant. You don't have to say anything."

Falman nodded gratefully. The three soldiers stood in silence. Falman rubbed his thumb against his fingers nervously and glanced up at the general. He never claimed to be close with Mustang, but he always trusted him. He seemed so _big _when Falman was first recruited - the kind of man that demanded attention wherever he went. Now Mustang was diminished, half the man he was.

Suddenly, Fuery perked. "Sir! We almost forgot to tell you about Captain Hawkeye! She woke up. She's alright, Sir!"

Mustang stirred, seeming to come to life for the span of one breath before falling back into darkness. "She's… awake?"

"She's sleeping now," Fuery piped. "But yes, Sir. She's fine!"

Falman was sure Fuery meant to comfort Mustang – to share one bright piece of news when everything seemed so bleak – but the general's expression only grew more hopeless. "Does she… know?"

Fuery's face fell, and Falman again cut in. Mustang deserved to know what he faced. "Yes, Sir. She knows about Breda."

Mustang merely nodded, bowing his head for a moment before he turned toward Suyin. "Would you… lead me to her room?" The Xingese woman nodded and took his elbow without hesitation.

"She's sleeping, Sir," Fuery said. "Perhaps you should wait -"

"No," Mustang said firmly. "This can't wait."

"Sir!" Falman said. There was something wrong about the general's tone, about the sloping defeat in his shoulders. It filled Falman with dread. He stepped forward to take hold of Mustang's arm – just as Breda did earlier that day. This time, however, Mustang's expression was not furious. Now Falman only saw resignation. It was the face of a man ready to die.

"Please let go, Falman," the Mustang said. "Let go." His tone was so dead. It made Falman more afraid of what was to come - made him want to grip the General's arm even more tightly. But broken as it was, Mustang's voice still held the force of command. Falman reluctantly released his hold and the general stepped past him without a backwards glance.

"Falman," Fuery whispered. "What…?"

Falman shook his head as he watched General Mustang slip into Hawkeye's room.

-o-o-o-

She became aware in fits and starts. Here was the sound of shuffling feet on tile. There was the feeling of something beneath her back. Her mouth was dry and tasted of blood. Her head felt full, like a hand clenched inside her skull. It was a strange sensation - one of intrusion. Of _presence_. Since she woke to find herself in the hospital bed, to a world that threatened to fall apart, she felt something there. Like a worm inside her head.

She knew he was there before she opened her eyes. She could smell his cologne, the spicy campfire scent that always seemed to surround him. But it was more than that. There was always moreto Roy, more to the way his presence filled the room. He had a weight - a _gravity_ - that pulled others to him. Demanding attention. Asking to be seen and heard. A magnetism no one could ignore. People were drawn to Roy, caught up in the whirlwind and passion and vision that was _him_.

He was nearby, she knew. She could feel the ebb and flow of his breathing, the way his warmth fell on her cheek. She was afraid to move, afraid to dispel the still that pervaded the room. She needed peace after everything that happened. Her waking would disturb that quiet and she was not ready for what was to come. For once she did - once things were set in motion - it would never be the same. There was no turning back from this moment.

She hesitantly opened her eyes. He was right beside her, seated in a wooden chair. The Ishvalan sun cut the angles of his face, casting shadows under his eyes. He looked so startlingly thin. She could feel the hollowness of him. He was spent. Empty. There was nothing left.

Roy seemed to know she was awake. He stiffened in his chair, blank eyes finding hers. Riza fought the urge to look away. Not for the first time, she was grateful he could not see, grateful she did not have to meet the once-cutting black of his eyes. Their wit and clarity were so much a part of him - of the man he used to be - she could not bear to look at them now. The blind, milky blue softened things. She could meet them without flinching. It would help her weather what was to come.

"You know," he said. Soft as it was, his voice cut the underlying quiet like a blade.

"I know," she said. The news about Breda nearly destroyed her. She could not believe Mustang hurt another member of their team. Accident or no, it was unforgivable. All the risks they took in pursuit of Mustang's vision for the country, and this was how he repaid their loyalty. They believed in him. They trusted him implicitly. But the others only saw hints of his secret darkness, and Breda did not know him as Riza did. She was the only member of the team in the tunnels beneath Central on the Promised Day. Roy's expression - one of grief and uncompromising wrath – would forever be branded in her mind.

Riza could not help thinking that she was partially to blame for what happened in the desert today. She should have told Breda. She should have warned him. Perhaps she, too, was blind. She assumed those times were behind them. She thought Ishval would be a new leaf, a fresh page. Never in her darkest imaginings could she believe Mustang would hurt one of their own. His darkness was always inwardly directed; his thoughts only of self-deprecation and loathing. She was certain the incident with Breda was an accident, but even now she was unsure if she could find the strength to forgive him.

If Roy sensed her internal struggle, it did not show. His face was still and emotionless. Without a word, he reached behind, to the back of his belt. She heard the soft release of a metal clasp and he drew something forth to set it on the bed, right next to her hand.

A gun. _Her_ gun. The gift that set things in motion. An innocent token of affection that set a barrier between them. It was still perfect: a thing of cold metal and warm sentiment made specifically for her. He could only mean one thing by returning it to her now. She knew what he wanted – what he asked of her – but the cold reality of the promise she made so long ago struck her like a hammer to the chest. She swore she could hear her heartbeat echo off the walls.

Blinking back tears, Riza tore her eyes from the gun. "Put that thing away."

His utter stillness pervaded the space, leaving no room for escape. He was waiting for her. "You promised you would."

She shook her head. "Now is not the time."

"It _is _that time. I've strayed, Riza."

"_Why_?" she whispered. "Why did you do it?"

"It was an accident. I would never -"

"You lost control."

Mustang turned his face away. "They… hurt you."

"You knew that was a possibility when we started this thing."

He remained silent for a beat. "I didn't realize what it... meant."

"I-" Riza glanced down at the gun. Her heart lurched painfully - once, twice - right in the center of her chest. "No. I won't."

"You said you would. You said you would do it if I lost my way."

Slowly – reluctantly – she drew her eyes to his face. Sunlight glinted off his hair, gold on darkest black. So many years between them, filled with loyalty and trust and companionship. Images of their life together flashed through her mind. She remembered him as a boy - his pride and enthusiasm and zeal to learn. He'd changed so much since then – both of them had. He was so much more focused now, so much more set on a single goal. The journey here tainted him with darkness, but she still believed in him. It was not too late for him to turn back. He could still do good in this world.

Riza imagined the concussion of the gun, the startling sight of a bullet hole in his chest, right over his heart. He was so much like fire he created: burning bright, brilliant and warm. But now he was dimming before her eyes – at the end of an ever-shortening wick. She imagined dousing that flame. She imagined ending his life. It shook her - the thought a world without his light. And she knew in that moment she never meant to keep her promise. She never meant to end his life no matter how much he strayed. Because she loved him. She always had.

"No," Riza said firmly. "Put it away."

"You said you would." His voice did not waver, rock-steady in this one thing. "You said you'd do it if I strayed off the path."

She was trembling; she gripped the sheets in both hands to steady them. The gun shone innocently in the morning sun. She never hated a weapon so fiercely in her life. "No," she said again. It had been years since she felt so uncertain, like she was on her first mission, a green sniper just out of Academy. She remembered how it felt to stare down the sights of a rifle at the first man she would kill. To know that pulling the trigger would end his life forever. Nothing could take it back.

"No." she said, turning her face away.

"I've strayed, Riza. I can't -" he said. "I don't deserve to -" Roy's breath hitched. He seemed to have some internal struggle before continuing. "I can't go on like this."

_What?_ A desperate anger bloomed in her chest. _He's giving up. He's giving up! _"Have you spoken with him?" she whispered harshly. A part of her wanted to comfort him, but it would not be enough to draw him back from the precipice of his own despair. _Breda will forgive you,_ she thought_. He will understand it was a mistake. Speak with him, Roy._

Roy bowed his head, face still expressionless. "I… can't."

A startling anger flooded through her, clenching her like a fist. This was not the man she vowed to follow. Where was his unflappable confidence? Where was his bravery? She wanted to shake him. "Coward," she spat. "You _coward_." She needed to wound him, to pull some kind of feeling from him. Only then would she have a chance of drawing him back. But his face did not change. His eyes were blank. Empty. Resolute in their own hopelessness.

"Riza," he said insistently. He leaned forward to take hold of her hand. He placed it over the gun. "Please."

"No!" she hissed. She drew away as though burned. "Don't you _dare _do this. Don't you _dare _run from this. You _coward_."

"Riza," he said. "I almost killed him." His voice cracked. "I can't..."

Her heart was breaking; she could feel it buckle, crushed under the unbearable weight. Things were falling apart. "Face this," she whispered fiercely.

He reached for her hand again, but she pulled away before he could touch her. How had it come to this? How had things become so irreparably broken? Roy let his emotions take control, just as he had with Envy in the tunnels below Central. She was so sure the Promised Day had strengthened him. He had come back from the experience more resolute than ever. Where had that strength and vision gone? She had seen him through the darkest times, through waves of depression and uncertainty and fear. She knew the true strength of his character. But he had ruined everything, and now he wished to leave her alone in this shattered, ruined world. She would be lost without him. She already was.

He was calling to her. Her first name. It drew her from her reverie, back to the unforgiving present. She cried out, startled into action.

She slapped him. Once, across the cheek. Roy opened his mouth to speak, but she struck him before he could utter a word. Without pause, she drew back and hit him again. And again. She slapped him until her hand was numb and his cheek an angry red. Over and over until her strength was gone. Each hit ripped a piece from her. Each sound was final and absolute, like a door slamming shut. He did not fight; he bowed his head and allowed each blow to fall. His hands remained still on his lap, never once stirring to block her.

The sound reverberated through the room long after she finished. They were both breathing heavily; their shuddering gasps rose and fell in perfect unison. Riza's eyes stung with unshed tears, but she did not have the strength to cry. She could not show him how much it hurt. Neither spoke for a long time. There were no more words to say.

Slowly, Roy raised his head, his face impassive. His blank eyes found hers again, and Riza gasped. He _saw_ her, his gaze piercing her to her very soul. She felt naked before him - stripped and vulnerable. Disarmed by a single look. "Riza..." he began.

"Don't," she choked.

"Riza." He reached for her again.

"Don't touch me!"

"Riza, please..."

"Captain Hawkeye," she corrected him sharply.

Roy's expression crumbled and he drew away. For the first time he looked as though he had been struck. He nodded, once. "If... if that's what you want... Captain."

_No,_ she thought. _This is not what I want. This is _never _what I wanted. I wanted you to be happy, Roy. After all we've been through, I wanted to share peace with you. _So many things they never had. So many things they'd never said to one another. Their lives put on hold for their ambitions. Denied by honor and duty. Stolen before they could ever know it. And now their hearts were divided, each half lost without the other, left to die separated and incomplete.

Riza choked back a sob. "I'd like to be alone now."

Roy nodded. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, of course." He rose from the chair on unsteady feet. He groped for a moment before he found the white cane at his side. Roy took one step before pausing at her bedside, eyes blank and searching. She said nothing, not able to meet his empty stare. She could not bear to look at him, could not even look up as he turned away. He was halfway to the door before she stopped him with a word.

"Wait."

Roy's shoulders tightened under his coat. His head swung to face her. "What is it?" he said softly.

Riza swallowed thickly. She saw the beginnings of hope on his face, and it pierced her like a spear. She knew what she intended to say would drive that hope out of him. Guilt threatened to overwhelm her and she closed her eyes to gather her thoughts. She was not sure if she had enough courage for this last request. "My back," she said slowly. "It's healed. The scars are gone."

Roy stilled. "What?" he whispered.

"The tattoo is intact again," she said. "I noticed after I woke up." She asked a nurse to fetch her a mirror earlier that day. She checked the instant she was alone, and was dismayed to find the tattoo in its original state, as though she had never been burned.

"How?" His voice was suddenly tight. She knew how it hurt him to destroy the array. They rarely spoke of it.

"I don't know. Maybe when that Xingese woman healed me..." She frowned and shook her head. "It doesn't matter. What matters now is making sure the array is –"

Darkness fell over his face like an eclipse. "No."

She had to go on. If she stopped now she would never have the strength to ask. "My father's secrets… they're dangerous."

"No!" His face flushed, the slapped cheek an ugly red.

"You have to -"

"I won't burn you again."

"I carry this burden -"

"No! This is _our_ burden!" He was shouting now, voice broken and furious.

"You agreed -"

"I didn't agree to this!" he cried. "If you won't keep your promise, I won't keep mine! Don't ask me to do a thing I regretted from the moment I put on my gloves. I won't hurt you again. Not like that."

"You have to. We can't let anyone -"

"Don't ask me again, _Captain_." He spun angrily and stumbled toward the door. His shoulder glanced off the frame as he strode through it without a backwards glance. The door slammed shut with a finality that shattered her already fractured heart.

And finally, left alone and unwhole, Riza wept.

-o-o-o-

"Devon!" Ashika called as she stumbled through another pile of rubble. Hours of searching with no sign of her brother. She was beginning to lose hope.

She was afraid for him. He could easily be spotted by one of the Amestrian soldiers or Ishvalans. Devon was witless and defenseless; it would be a simple matter to capture him. They would not understand. They would only see him as a starved, insane boy lost in the desert. They would take him away. Ashika pushed away the sinking feeling in her heart and pressed on, stretching out her senses in search of his chi. She had not felt it once since he ran away. She could not find him.

"Devon," she whispered. Her voice reverberated over windswept buildings and empty rubble. "Devon, I'm so sorry." She covered her lidless eyes with her uninjured hand and fell to her knees. "I'm sorry."

_Come back._

-o-o-o-

Fuery took a deep breath before knocking on the door. He couldn't deny he was nervous. They saw Mustang storm out of the room early that morning. They did not know what happened between their two commanding officers, but it had been hours before the nurse allowed anyone to see Captain Hawkeye. Kain was shocked when he was summoned to her room – for what reason he did not know. He slipped through the door when he heard Hawkeye's soft command. "Enter."

"You wanted to see me, ma'am?" Fuery said softly. He waited in awkward silence as Hawkeye hastily reached up to wipe at her eyes. He could not see her face, but he could only assume she was trying to hide tears. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Yes." Hawkeye cleared her throat. "Yes, Sergeant." The Captain was trying at her usual brisk tone, but the effect was ruined by her wet voice. Fuery's heart sunk.

"What can I do for you, Captain?" Fuery said as lightly as he could manage. He hoped she could hear his true meaning - the underlying promise. He would do anything for her.

Hawkeye remained silent a long time. Her face was still turned away, but Fuery could see her shoulders rise and fall in a long, shuddering breath. "Are communications currently stable in Ishval, Sergeant? Do we have a secure line?"

"Y- yes Ma'am."

Hawkeye shifted on the seat, raising her eyes to the setting sun outside the window. "You'd be able to get me through to Central?"

"Yes Ma'am. Do you... do you mean to make a... private call?"

"I do," she said softly.

"S- sure thing," said Fuery. "It shouldn't be a problem, Captain. I just have to set up a new line and add a few extra -" His voice trailed when Hawkeye turned to look at her hands, her face hidden by the curtain of her hair. He had never seen her body look so hunched and reluctant.

"I need you to get me a line into Central HQ, Fuery."

Fuery's stomach dropped. What she asked was no easy task, especially from faraway Ishval. "I'll see what I can do ma'am, " he said, but stopped to shake his head. He could do better than that. Kain straightened his shoulders, hands fisting at his sides. "That is to say… I'll do it," he said firmly.

"Can you?" she said. She finally lifted her head to face him, and Kain's expression fell. The Captain's face was puffy and red - evidence of hours of crying. Her eyes looked so weary and lifeless. It tore at Fuery's heart. Yet somehow Hawkeye managed some semblance of her peaceful air - the cool countenance that made her so beautiful. She was radiant in her own grief.

"S- sure," Fuery mumbled. "We left some contacts in Central, so I should be able to –"

"I need you to patch me through to the Fuhrer," she cut in firmly.

"The Fuhrer?" Kain squeaked.

"Yes," Hawkeye said. "Can you do it?"

"I... I think so, Captain," Fuery stammered. "It won't be easy, but I'll do my best."

Riza's expression softened. "I know you will."

"I – I can… I'll get right on it, Captain," he said. "You can count on me." He started toward the door, eager to get started. To keep his hands busy and his mind occupied.

"Fuery."

Kain stopped, hand halfway to the doorknob. He turned to face his commander. "Yes ma'am?"

"If you get through..." She paused and a sad smile played over her lips. "_When_ you get through, that is… Tell the Fuhrer... tell him..." The smile slipped from her face and she turned back to stare out the window. "Tell him that his granddaughter wishes to speak with him."

-o-o-o-

**A/N: Sorry, folks. Had to happen.**

**Thanks again to the amazing Disastergirl for the awesome beta. You're the best, lady!**

**Next Chapter: Hiss**


	14. Din

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 14****: Din**

**1. **_**noun - **_**a jumble of loud, usually discordant sounds**

**2. **_**verb - **_**the act of setting something in motion**

**3. **_**noun**_** - a noisy disturbance**

**4. **_**verb**_** - to make a resonant sound, like artillery**

-o-o-o-

"Thank you, Sergeant, that will be all."

"Captain..." said Sergeant Kent, whose eyes skittered about the room as though afraid to stare at one thing for too long. Overturned furniture lay scattered in the main living space. A dark stain marred the floorboards leading into her bedroom. The team investigating her attack did little to tidy the area once through inspecting it. The sergeant swallowed loudly. "Are you sure...?"

"Yes," she said, though she was unable to meet his eyes. She found it difficult speaking with most of the soldiers lately. They had grown strangely protective of her, as though she were a fragile thing too helpless to be left alone. A part of her feared that might be true. She could not remember happened to her. Every time she thought back to that night, hoping to catch some remnant - something she could cling to - she found nothing. A great hole had been carved into her memory and replaced with nothing but black.

She heard of soldiers who could not recall traumatic events in their careers - things so life-altering and tragic they were forced to forget lest their mind shatter. But Riza's memory never failed her, even during her time in Ishval. As much as she wished it, buried in the heat and violence of war, she could never forget what happened. What she _did_. Each day of that living nightmare was branded in her mind, clear and vivid as though it happened only moments before.

"Captain..." Kent had a bland, earnest sort of face. It was familiar to her, though she never met the young man before today. Many of her fellow cadets wore similar expressions when they started their military training: unblemished and innocent like a fresh sheet of paper. It made Hawkeye feel war-hardened - ancient before her time. "Are you sure you don't want someone to guard...?"

"I'm sure," Riza said, stepping into her apartment, careful to avoid the shattered wood strewn over the floor. It was the remnants of one of her chairs, she realized . She wondered briefly how that happened. It frightened her that she did not know. "That will be _all_, Sergeant. Thank you."

The young man lingered on the doorstep, shifting from foot to foot until Hawkeye sent him a severe look. The sergeant paled. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered before turning away.

She waited for the sound of bootsteps to fade before she turned back to the ruin that was her former apartment. The stillness inside seemed thick, almost roaring in her ears. It was incredible that she slept soundly in this place only five days before. The room was now transformed; someplace sinister. She would find no rest here, but perhaps she could find some clue of what happened to her. Something the investigative team missed - a remaining trace that might jog her memory. Hawkeye stepped through the living area, carefully placing her feet between the shards of wood.

Her days in the infirmary were not easy - more painful than those she spent in the hospital after the Promised Day. She hated being idle, and this time it was worsened by an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. The doctors forbade her from returning to work for at least a week, and Falman was so wrapped in his new duties he hardly had a moment to spare to brief her on the latest news in camp. The only thing she could glean from the Lieutenant was that Mustang returned to his post as general, quietly and without incident. As of yet, things were peaceful between the Ishvalan and Amestrian camps. She wondered how long that would last.

Breda woke several times over the past three days, but only to fits of delirium. He reached for things that were not there and cried out for the others - sometimes Havoc, other times Falman - begging for their help. He called for Mustang, too. Riza heard him from across the hall late one night. She could not help but curl in guilt at the fear and uncertainty in his voice. Fuery took up a near-permanent post at his bedside, in case the lieutenant unknowingly reveal the true nature of his injuries. They were living a lie, concealing the truth for a man they were no longer sure they could trust.

The physicians were reluctant to let her return to her flat. They seemed to think it would be too much - she was not recovered enough in mind and spirit. She could not blame them. She fell into a deep depression before she managed to get the call across to Grumman. Speaking to him did not help to relieve her stress. But now that she set things in motion, she could not wait idle any longer. There was so much she had to do before help from Central arrived.

First, she had to find answers.

She stepped into the bedroom. It had taken some persuasion and a few harsh words, but Falman finally admitted this was the place where Mustang found her, covered in her own blood and teetering on the brink of death. If only it had not been the general. If only another person discovered her. If only someone had been with him - so he would not despair, so he would not have been so lost and blind. Too many things happened while she lay unconscious - things she could have prevented. She could not help feeling this was her fault.

The investigators removed the bedclothes and mattress; the room felt stripped, too bare. A small part of her was grateful. Falman did not divulge much of what he saw that day, but his eyes told a story more vivid than words. It must have been horrific. She knew she lost blood - the iron-heavy weight that pulled at her shoulders was proof enough - but she was not prepared to see the evidence. Riza stared at stain on the floor, now dry - nothing more than a crust of black flakes. Her blood. Roy found her this way.

She padded to the headboard. The rough-hewn wood was smooth here, bowed out as though shaped by a giant pair of hands. She could see more splintered wood on the floor nearby, one piece ending in an unnaturally warped spiral. She did not need to look closely to know what she would see: barely-discernible and perfectly square etchings, a tell-tale sign of Alchemy. More evidence her attacker was not some commoner out for revenge. More proof that an Ishvalan was not to blame.

She long thought on the identity of her attacker. Over the past three sleepless nights her mind reeled, desperately searching her memory for someone who might have motive to ruin them. It was too targeted, too _intentional_ to be a random act of violence. Whoever attacked her wanted to destroy peace actions in Ishval. The symbol carved into her back was a plant - she was sure of it. And though the Resistance group had motive, she had a hard time believing they would choose alchemy - a tool of the so-hated Flame Alchemist - to carry it out.

Then there was the mystery of her scars. How were they healed, and for what purpose? The thought of another alchemist in possession of her father's secrets terrified her. They were dangerous; that fact had not diminished with time. There was a reason why she asked Mustang to burn her and why she was willing to endure that pain a second time. There could be no more flame alchemists, especially after what happened... what could have happened.

Roy. More than anything, the thought of him kept her awake at night. The last time she saw him was on that day, when she slapped him and said harsh things she would always regret. Even now her heart ached to remember how broken he looked when he staked out of her room. She'd never seen him so defeated. She heard nothing of him since. Falman avoided the topic as much as possible when he visited her in the infirmary over the past three days. Whenever Hawkeye brought up the general, the lieutenant's face tightened and he would suddenly find an excuse to leave.

She felt empty. They had been together such a long time. Ages. So long, she realised, she depended on the space he occupied in her life. His absence had become a great hole, a yawning chasm that was not there even as she worked in isolation under Bradley. Now he was gone and she was alone. The day she struck him pulled a switch inside her: The lights were on and she could finally see clearly what had been all along.

She heard a creak from the adjoining room: the sound of a floorboard bending under weight. Hawkeye gasped and her heart flew up to her throat. She drew her gun, hands shaking, already damp with sweat.

"Who's there?" she croaked. She did not understand why, but she was suddenly filled with an overwhelming terror. There was something about the sound that tugged at her memory. Riza unfurled her fingers to reposition her grip, and the gun nearly slipped from her hands.

Another floorboard popped. Hawkeye crouched behind the bedframe, squeezing her eyes closed for a heartbeat to keep the room from spinning. Though she healed substantially over the last three days, she was still weak, suffering the effects of her recent blood loss. She was in no condition to fight.

"Who's there?" she said again. "Show yourself!" She braced both arms on the bare box spring, gun trained at the empty doorway.

The flash of red was so shocking and unexpected, Hawkeye nearly pulled the trigger. She sucked a breath between her teeth and pointed the gun at the ceiling, away from the figure that appeared between the frames of her bedroom door. It was that Xingese stranger, the one Riza found in Mustang's office the day she was attacked. The woman stood unmoving, arms loose at her side, body relaxed, seemingly unaware or perhaps uncaring she had almost been shot.

"You -!" Riza rose from behind the bed. Her finger remained firmly set on the trigger. "What are you doing here?"

The stranger blinked. Her hand did not move to the daggers strapped to her belt but Riza could spot combat-hardened calluses well enough to know they could be in in a moment. "At last you are alone," the woman said, her accent thick and smooth as syrup.

Hawkeye's hands spasmed painfully on the grip of her gun. "What do you mean? Who are you and what are you doing here?"

A smile spread across the woman's lips but did not touch her eyes. "We have much to speak on, Riza Hawkeye." She eyed the dark stain on the floor with disgust and jerked her head toward the main room. "Come."

Every fighter's instinct screamed she not follow. Years spent in the military, hiding a secret that could ruin both her and her commanding officer, made Riza understandably distrustful of strangers. But Hawkeye shook her head and set her suspicions aside. She needed answers, and she sensed this stranger might have some to offer. Why else would she have come?

The Xingese woman was seated in one of the formerly overturned chairs by the time Riza entered the room. She perched cross-legged on the edge, seemingly at ease. She motioned for Hawkeye to sit across from her. "You may put away your weapon," the woman murmured. "I did not come here to fight."

After a moment's hesitation, Hawkeye crossed the room. This time she did not care where she stepped and the splinters popped and cracked under her feet. She sat slowly, unwilling to break eye contact with Xingese woman, whose own eyes glittered with barely-hidden amusement. Riza dropped her gun in her lap but did not put it away.

The stranger's eyes dipped to Riza's weapon and a smile tugged at the edge her lips. "Ask," she said, lifting an upturned, welcoming hand.

Riza's thumb ran over backstrap of her gun, along the sharp-then-smooth engraving. "Who are you?"

The woman quirked her head. "I am Suyin."

Riza sighed heavily through her nose. She was not in the mood for riddles. "That means nothing to me."

"I should hope not," Suyin smirked. "I lead a... private life. My trade is in Xing, but I have dealings with a select few in your country. I am known to one Madame Christmas, to whom I am indebted. I am here to repay a favor to her."

Hawkeye eyed the woman suspiciously. She knew something of Roy's foster mother and her... profession. Most of what Riza gleaned from her peripheral dealings with the woman was unsavory. "What kind of favor?"

"A substantial one." Suyin said lightly. "Otherwise I would not be in this -" She trailed off in a string of words Riza did not understand.

"What was the favor?" Riza pressed. She could only assume it was to help Roy in some way. Christmas was not one to be solicitous in distributing gifts - except when it pertained to her foster son.

"I came to teach Mustang alkahestry. He had a wish to learn."

_He wanted to learn alkahestry?_ It made no sense. _Doesn't he know enough alchemy? He's been to the Gate... what more could he learn?_ Riza frowned. Why did he not tell her? A sudden memory of Mustang's darkened flat flashed through her mind - the night after Grumman's party. He kissed her, and things had never been the same since. Her hands tightened over the grip. "Did he tell you why?"

Suyin shrugged again. "He wished to see. Alkahestry could give him that power."

"To see...?" Riza echoed. Her eyes trailed down to the weapon in her lap. It shone coldly between her fingers. "And you were able to teach him... You were able to show him how to see. That's how he could -"

"No!" The word was harsh - almost a bark. Riza glanced up to see anger flash over the other woman's features. "_No._ I taught him nothing. _Nothing. _He was not able to perform alkahestry before the day..." Suyin's voice trailed.

"Before the day I was attacked," Riza finished. She sighed and holstered her weapon. "Please. I need to know what happened."

Suyin shifted: Her first sign of discomfort since they met. "I know only parts. Pieces."

"But you do know _something_."

Suyin seemed more interested in tugging at a loose thread of silk than meeting Riza's eyes. "I do."

"Tell me."

Suyin's face suddenly broke into a smirk, eyes narrowed into a coquettish smile. "In my profession it is unheard of to give without expecting something in return."

Riza's hands curled on the edge of her chair. She did not have time for this. "What's your price?"

"That remains to be seen. Simply know my favors are not freely given."

"And what you owe Christmas? You haven't paid your debt yet. The General hasn't learned alkahestry. You said it yourself."

Suyin's lip curled. "The favor was to be paid to Mustang alone."

Riza paused, considering her next words carefully. She was not one for manipulation. She could not twist words the way the general could. She was too straightforward and forthright - she had been since she was a girl. "If you help me, you help him," she said, simply.

Suyin pursed her lips, considering the captain for a long minute. "That is true," she said softly. "More than you know, I suspect."

Hawkeye was growing tired of riddles. "Then help me," she growled. "Answer. Do you know who attacked me?"

Suyin shook her head. "I do not. I sensed nothing that night." She raised her hand again, welcoming Riza to continue. "Ask."

"Falman said you healed me," Riza prompted.

The Xingese woman smiled wolfishly. "That is not a question." Her grin widened when she saw how quickly it irritated the lieutenant. "But he was correct. I did heal you."

Riza pursed her lips, debating her next words. Eventually, her need to know the truth won out over her desire to hide secrets. "And the... scars? Did you heal those too?"

Suyin cocked her head. "Scars?"

"The scars on my back," Riza said, trying to keep her voice calm. "Did you heal them?"

Suyin frowned. "I healed your wounds, Riza Hawkeye, nothing more. There were no scars."

It felt as though the air rushed out of the room. "I... see," Riza said.

"These scars... they were extensive?"

"...Yes," Riza breathed. "They were on my back."

The Xingese woman's eyes grew sharp - more calculating than curious now. "Ah. I was interested to see how you were so marked. I was told tattoos are not a custom in Amestris."

There was that dizzying fear. The terror she always felt when someone might learn of the fire array. The feeling never faded with time. She spent her entire life protecting her father's secrets, and even after the array was destroyed she was still afraid it was not enough. Riza crossed her arms over her chest. "It's of no importance to you," she muttered, bothered by how Suyin's eyes seemed to glitter. "Forget you ever saw it."

The other woman shrugged, but her gaze lingered on the crest of Hawkeye's shoulder before drifting up to the lieutenant's eyes again. Riza swore she saw the smallest fluttering of greed before it dissapeared. "It matters not to me," Suyin said lightly. "I have no interest in alchemy."

"You're _certain _you saw no scars?"

"I did not," Suyin said.

"So they were gone when you found me." The world seemed to shrink around her. Suddenly anything was possible.

"One must assume so."

_That means they were healed before she arrived_, Riza mused._ My scars were healed__... __by my attacker._ Whoever they were, they restored the tattoo intentionally, and now they knew Mustang's secret. And if they were powerful enough to heal her scars, they could most certainly wield flame.

_It __hasn't been the only s__ecret discovered over the past few weeks_, Hawkeye realized. "Would... could a Philosopher's stone erase my scars?"

Suyin stared at the captain incredulously for a moment before she snorted, slapping her knee as though Riza told a joke. "A Philosopher's stone? Stories we tell children! With tales of dragons and demon-gods! It could heal anything, it you are one to believe legends! It can also turn lead into gold and make men fall desperately in love with any woman." She threw Riza a sharp-eyed glance. "Are you a superstitious woman, Captain?"

Riza glared at the Xingese stranger. She was not willing to admit the truth: There _was_ a Philosopher's stone in existence and it was recently stolen. It was why Mustang remained blind. Now Hawkeye's certainty grew with every second: There was a connection between the two events. Someone was plotting against them, purposefully undermining their efforts so Mustang's team could not succeed in Ishval. She glanced at Suyin, still chuckling under her breath. "Stranger things have happened lately."

"Oh?" Suyin wiped a tear from her eye before smiling at the captain with mild curiosity.

Hawkeye concentrated on keeping her face impassive. "A cadet - one of our own - attacked some Ishvalan civilians several days ago."

"What does that matter to me?" Suyin said flippantly. "Mustang needs to better control his men."

Riza frowned. She swore she saw something in the other woman's eyes - a flash of doubt. She was hiding something "We screened each soldier before we came here," she said evenly. "There could be no mistakes. Every man was dedicated to our cause. We made certain of that."

"It seems one man was not," Suyin said, casting her eyes to a corner of the room. "It does not sound strange to me. Men are weak. They fall. They fail."

"But there _was_ something strange." Riza was staring at Suyin now, carefully studying the Xingese woman's expression. "He couldn't remember attacking the Ishvalans. He claimed he didn't remember anything." She watched Suyin's body tighten, the slight curling of her fingers over her silk trousers. Riza's voice dropped to a whisper. "Just like me. I can't remember anything from the night I was attacked. Strange, isn't it?"

"I... see." Her dark eyes canted up to meet Hawkeye's. In them, Riza could see darkness. Knowledge of something she wished to keep hidden.

Riza leaned forward in her seat, pinning the other woman with her gaze. This was too important. "You know something. Tell me."

Suyin's mouth downturned into a thoughtful frown. She considered Hawkeye for a moment, teetering between two decisions. After a long silence, she nodded. "I can help you. But first you must take me to this cadet. I wish to see him for myself."

-o-o-o-

"You're late." The voice was deep and resonant; weighty because it was such a rare thing to be heard. "I have been waiting."

"My apologies." Miles lifted his glasses to the sun before pulling a cloth from his pocket. The lenses were smudged and covered in a thin layer of sand. "Things have been unstable in our camp since the attack."

"So I hear."

Miles sighed and stared down at his hands, focusing on his work. That was an understatement at best. The initial uproar had already faded, but whispers still flew among the ranks: Someone attacked two of Mustang's own. Uncertainty infiltrated the ranks, threatening to dissolve the chain of command. Small fights broke out in the barracks and mess halls. Everyone was on edge. Miles frowned. The dark glass flashed between his fingers, reflecting amber light from the sandstone nearby. "I'm sure you've heard many things over the past few days."

"Yes."

Miles barked a laugh. "She was right. You're not a man of many words, are you?"

The man shrugged, then went still again. It was so unnerving how quiet he could be at times. Miles swore the man was carved out of stone.

"Tell me," Miles said. "How long do you plan on playing this game?" The man grunted and the major sent him an apologetic smile. "Don't get me wrong, your information has been invaluable, but it won't be long before Resistance sees you for the spy you are."

"I am not a spy," the man rumbled. "These people seek to undermine efforts to rebuild our country. I cannot allow that."

Miles' fingers slowed, sweeping in soft circles over the glass. _Our_ people. _Our_. The man spoke it so certainly - so _naturally_. As though he were part of a greater whole. As though he belonged. Miles frowned slightly and removed the last smudge before replacing the glasses on his face. "Nor can I."

The man nodded. "I hear Mustang returned to his post."

"Yes... he has," Miles said slowly. There was no explanation for Mustang's disappearance after Captain Hawkeye was attacked. He knew the general took the captain to the infirmary. According to the nursing staff, he left shortly thereafter in the company of Breda, Falman, and a strange woman in Xingese clothing. The general disappeared into the desert. Falman returned an hour later with an unconscious Breda slung over his shoulders. Mustang remained missing until the following day, again accompanied by the Xingese woman. From what Miles gathered speaking to the soldiers on duty, the General visited the infirmary once more before returning to the command center.

Since, Mustang hardly spoke to anyone, instead issuing orders secondhand through couriers and - mainly - through Lieutenant Falman. The remaining members of Mustang's team remained light-lipped, loyal as always. Construction resumed and soldiers went about their duties, but a pall had been cast over the entire camp. Uncertainty lived in the heart of every man.

"So," the man said. "I assume you do not know what happened."

Miles started, glancing up at his informant. Not for the first time he was glad his glasses hid his eyes. "Does that mean you do?"

"Yes," the man replied. "After the captain was attacked, Mustang confronted Shane."

"What?" Miles said, heart sinking. _Mustang sought out the leader of the Resistance?_ "Tell me what happened."

The informant was quick in his explanations - always direct, never descriptive. Miles face darkened as the other man recounted how Mustang arrived at the Resistance hideout, blaming Shane and the others for the attack on his lieutenant. How the general threatened them with fire alchemy and - ultimately - how Breda choose to block the attack with his body rather than allow what would have most certainly led to war.

Miles plunked down on an overturned column. He felt sick. "Why hasn't the Resistance attacked? Why haven't they retaliated? What are they waiting for?"

The man shook his head. "They aren't fools. They know you Amestrians have something they need. Something they can't survive without."

Miles nodded, ignoring how the other man referred to him as an Amestrian - an outsider. "Water."

The man nodded. "Yes. It is in short supply in our camp as well as yours. Shane is not an idiot; he knows it would be suicide to start a fight now, when we are so vulnerable."

"We have a large supply on the way..." Miles mused. "It should arrive any day now." He had reports the caravan left the Eastern train station over a week ago. It was slow-moving, laden with its burden. The deep sand and foul desert weather slowed their progress significantly.

"The Resistance knows about this supply."

"_What?_" Miles' head jerked up. "You don't mean...?"

The man's face turned grim. "Yes. This is the opportunity they need. They intend to take the water before it arrives at your camp. By force, if necessary."

"Shit," Miles muttered. This could ruin everything they worked so hard to attain. "And then what? They intend to attack the people who supply their people with water? Are they insane?"

The man shrugged. "They are confident that once Amestris is out of the way, they will find one of the lost reservoirs."

"Assuming any of them survives," Miles said. "You know as well as I do... it will be a bloodbath. We have to prevent this from happening at all costs." Miles growled and scuffed one boot over a loose piece of stone. This was all Mustang's fault. What was he thinking, confronting the Resistance like that? Now things were set in motion, like the first few boulders in an avalanche. It was unstoppable; he was not sure if they had the means to prevent what was to come. He turned to the other man. "Scar..."

"Shh!" His informant held out a hand to quiet him, not heeding the sound of his own name. His eyes scanned the rubble that skirted their meeting place. "I heard something."

Miles cursed inwardly and reached for his gun. It would be disaster if the Resistance discovered them together. He watched Scar stride to the southmost point of the clearing where they stood. Miles was again struck by how stealthily the larger Ishvalan moved. Scar disappeared behind a pile of shattered bricks.

The major waited for the span of several breathless minutes, silently cursing himself for his foolishness. It was too risky, meeting here together. Anyone could have seen them. He was about to follow when Scar reappeared, a troubled expression on his face. "What did you see?" Miles called softly.

"Someone was here," Scar replied. "I saw tracks in the sand." He glanced up at the major and shook his head. "No boot treads, so it was not likely an Amestrian..."

"A Resistance member?"

"I'm not sure. The markings were too small. A woman's... perhaps a child's foot."

Miles sighed and pushed up his glasses to rub his eyes. He did not have time to deal with this. He would just have to take each issue as it came. "Come on," he muttered. "Let's find someplace safer to talk. I need to know everything... When and how they plan to strike."

Scar nodded, casting one last glance in the direction of the noise before following Miles between two broken pillars.

Neither man noticed the figure hidden in the rubble, blood red eyes following them until they disappeared into the Ishvalan ruins.

-o-o-o-

Hawkeye decided to take the most roundabout route possible to the brig. Suyin was more than slightly conspicuous, dressed in bright red silk and clearly not a soldier. The other woman refused to wear one of Hawkeye's spare uniforms, stating with no small measure of disgust that she would rather die than wear something so constricting. Riza herself would be noticed on the walkways; everyone in camp knew she had been seriously injured only a few days before. Either way, the pair would draw unwanted attention.

They had not travelled far when Riza's legs started to burn and a dull ache pulled at her chest. Pain passed through her head like a shot. She could not go on much longer at this pace. "Wait," she called to Suyin, several yards ahead. "Slow down."

Suyin turned back to Hawkeye, now leaning with one hand braced on a nearby wall. "You are unwell."

"It's nothing..." Riza said. "Just... still a bit weak."

Suyin nodded and strode over to crouch next to Riza. "I will wait."

"...Thank you." It wasn't so bad; the burn was already fading. She stole a glance at her companion. The Xingese woman hardly seemed to notice, instead studying a passing sandfly as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Riza cleared her throat. "Tell me this, Suyin. How did you know? When the general found me... how did you know we needed help?"

Suyin's face hardened. Riza was suddenly struck with the image of a door swinging shut, eclipsing all light. The Xingese woman heaved a reluctant sigh. "I sensed something..." she said slowly, rolling the words over her tongue as though unsure if they were right. "I sensed something... forbidden. I knew it was Mustang but I did not understand it. So I came. I found him and I found you." Her eyes drifted up to Riza's before darting back to the insect. "You were near the end." Her toe hovered over the tiny, crawling insect.

Riza pushed away from the wall. "What do you mean? Are you saying what you sensed wasn't alchemy?"

"It was not."

"But General Mustang made... he was the source of whatever it is you sensed?"

"Yes."

"And you say you didn't teach him alkahestry." Her tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

"I _could_ not," Suyin said. "He does not have the mind for it. He is too analytical; he has too many thoughts."

Riza smiled weakly. An apt description of Mustang, if a bit simple. "So what was it, then? What did you sense?"

Suyin shook her head. "I am unsure what I felt before I arrived. Alkahestry that was not alkahestry. Alchemy that was not alchemy. Its nature is unclear to me, but he used it to see - that much is certain. I witnessed it later, when he sought out that Ishvalan rabble in the desert." She paused and regarded the Captain with dark eyes, deep and unchanging as a still and bottomless pool. "Before he..." She shrugged and her foot dropped, smashing the insect under her toe.

_Before he nearly killed Breda_, Riza finished silently. So Falman was right. Mustang found his way to the Resistance hideout by using some strange new ability. The general did not need to be led - he led himself. Whatever this power was, and impossible as it seemed, he used it to _see_. "What will it do to him?" Riza said uneasily. "Is it corrupting him? Is that the reason why he did what he did?"

"No. It was not," Suyin said, a touch of harshness pushing its way through her accent. "It _could_ not. It was a power _he_ created."

"I see," Hawkeye said again, eyes trained on her fingers, now playing restlessly over the clasp of her holster. Her heart sank at how easily Suyin answered, as though there were no question - no doubt Mustang acted of his own accord. So it was true: He alone was to blame for what happened to Breda.

"Do you recall?" Suyin said. She lifted her foot. The sandfly was gone, buried beneath sand and silt.

"Do I recall what?"

"What occurred the night you were attacked."

"There's nothing," Riza sighed. "I don't remember anything. "

"You are sure?" Suyin said, glancing at Riza again. Her eyes were strange. They seemed to see so deep, as though capable of piercing stone and flesh alike. Riza could not help but be reminded of pair of eyes just like them: Maes Hughes' were like that, too. He always saw things others meant to keep hidden.

"Yes I'm sure," Riza said, her voice edged with exasperation. "I remember going home to my flat, then... nothing. Just darkness. Black." She paused, tonguing one cheek.

In truth, there was more to the darkness. She felt things, sensed others around her. She remembered something dark and powerful wrapping her and someone pushing a white-hot needle into her skull. And she saw him. Roy. Alone and walking away from her. She remembered the feeling of something torn away and hot tears on her face. It was a dream - a vision at most. It meant nothing. Suyin did not need to know.

Suyin studied her for a long moment before she shrugged. "Hmm."

"Well," Riza said. "Let's get moving, then."

The two women hardly spoke as they made their way between hastily-made soldiers' quarters and barracks alike. The area was thankfully quiet; most soldiers being on duty or sleeping off their night shifts. Still, Riza was relieved to see the brig come into view. It was a low-slung building, indistinguishable from the others but for a pair of soldiers posted outside. Hawkeye turned to her companion only to find Suyin was several steps behind her, regarding the men with distaste.

Riza frowned. "It'll be a task getting someone like you in... but maybe if I..."

Suyin smirked and shook her head. "No matter. I shall find my own way." Without another word, she disappeared in a swish of red silk.

The guards snapped to attention as Hawkeye approached. The one nearer to her had close-cropped black hair; he could not have been much older than twenty. His eyes widened when he recognized her. "C- Captain!"

"Hello, Private Reed," she said coolly, pulling her shoulders back and drawing up to her full height. She knew this role; she wore it like a skin.

"Captain..." Reed hitched the firearm higher on his shoulder. The weapon looked too big for such a young man. "What are you doing here, ma'am? Shouldn't you be resting?"

"That is no concern of yours, Private. I have business here. Let me through." After a moment's thought, she added a belated "Please."

"But ma'am..." interjected Reed's companion - another private who Riza did not recognize. "We received no notice. There should be a written document detailing reasons for your visit and who you wish to -"

"Private," Hawkeye warned. She was in her element now. She knew how to make words sharp - make them crack like a whip. "Move."

"I - I -" the young man swallowed thickly. The hand that gripped his gun was ice-white.

"I will only tell you once."

Reed swept his arm out to push the other soldier's gun down. "Of course... of course we will, Captain..." He sent a warning glance at the unnamed private, who ducked his head and stepped to the side.

"Thank you," Riza said briskly, barely brushing shoulders with Reed as she passed. She paused at the door to throw a peremptory look over her shoulder. "I expect not to be disturbed."

"Yes ma'am," both guards gave a weak salute.

The brig interior was startlingly cool after the afternoon heat. Most of the cells lay empty but for a few cadets sleeping off hangovers from the night before. Up to this point, there had been few conflicts in camp, fewer still requiring a brig - even one as small as theirs. Hawkeye did not lie when she said they chose their troops carefully. She shut the door behind her and quietly slid the deadbolt in place. She could not risk the others interrupting. Riza slowly made her way down the narrow corridor, peering into each cell as she went.

She had not gotten far when Suyin's voice came from just over her shoulder. "I'm here."

Hawkeye gasped, falling back against the bars of the nearest cell, gun holster hitting the metal with a startling clang. She had not even heard the woman approach. "God," she breathed.

"Apologies," Suyin said. Her expression never changed, but Riza could hear a soft lilt of amusement in her voice. "I did not mean to startle."

"How did you get in?" Hawkeye said, glancing around the dim interior. She could see no other lights but for the ones that hung from the ceiling. She was certain there were no windows and no other entrances to the brig.

Suyin smiled and cocked her head. "A woman must keep her secrets. Come. Let us find this boy." She turned away, toward the back of the brig.

Riza merely shook her head and followed.

Cadet Brantley was imprisoned in the furthermost cell, isolated from the rest. The boy was huddled in the back corner, hands tucked under each arm. He stared blankly at his knees, hardly moving, and for a moment Riza feared the boy might have lost his mind. But he looked up at them with clear - if sullen - eyes when they appeared at his door.

"Who's there?" he rasped, squinting through the dark like a blind man. "Is it time for lunch yet?"

Hawkeye regarded the cadet silently for a moment before deciding to don the veil of command. He was a young man, and perhaps respect for her rank and station help things along. She had questions. Questions he might be able to answer. "Cadet," she clipped. "At attention."

The poor boy stumbled to his feet, snapping his heels together; a long-ingrained reflex. He was wearing a set of simple clothes made of a cheap gunmetal grey - nothing unusual for Amestrian prisoners. Hawkeye was surprised to see them soiled, dirtied at the knees and along one side as though he had fallen. There was a fresh gash on the cadet's eyebrow, crusted over with dried blood. He winced as he brought one hand up into a salute.

Riza stepped under the sickly yellow light. It cast a paltry circle that just reached the edge of Brantley's cell. The cadet paled visibly as he caught sight of his commanding officer. "Captain... Hawkeye..." he whispered hoarsely. He looked terrified.

In the corner of her vision, Riza saw a flash of red. Suyin positioned herself against the wall, just out of the circle of light. Riza dared a sideways glance at the Xingese woman before focusing back on the cadet. Suyin seemed tense; her hand rested lightly over a pair of kunai at her belt. Hawkeye shifted uneasily and nodded at the boy. "At ease."

Brantley flinched, frozen in place for a moment before he managed to drop his hand to his side. "Captain, they told me you were..." He paused, as though afraid to speak, to say something that might further condemn him. "They said you were hurt."

_Even a kid in the brig heard about it_, Riza thought, shaking her head. "It was nothing. I'm fine. What happened to _you_, Cadet?" The boy looked worse than when she saw him in the tent with the Ishvalans. "Where did you get that cut?" Looking closer, she could see his palms were scraped raw from what looked to be a fall. Blood darkened the dirt that soiled one knee, and what she initially thought was a shadow over one cheek was a deeply purpled bruise.

The cadet let out a shuddering breath and glanced up at her timidly. "They told me... they said it was my fault."

Hawkeye tensed. "They said _what_ was your fault?"

"They said... the Ishvalans attacked you because of what I did."

"Who? Who said that? Who did this to you?" She did not remember moving, but suddenly she felt cold metal under her hands: Her fingers wrapped around the bars of the cell.

Brantley glanced up through dirty bangs before dropping them to the floor and shaking his head.

"Cadet," Hawkeye said firmly.

The young man let out a groan and wrapped his arms around his middle. "Some of the others," he muttered. "During the guard change. They said you had been hurt... and..." His shoulders shook with a wet sob.

Riza stepped closer. "Did the other soldiers do this to you, Cadet? Amestrian soldiers?"

Brantley merely nodded, not meeting her eyes. "They said the Ishvalans attacked you because of me. Because of what I did. But..." His voice built, becoming high-pitched and desperate. "But I didn't! I didn't do anything!" The boy seemed to dissolve, crumpling in on himself until he was nothing but a shaking lump crouched on the cold stone. "I didn't do it! I swear I didn't!" he coughed into the space between his knees. "I don't even remember happened! I woke up inside some Ishvalan's house..." He brought his hands in front of his face, staring at them with too-wide eyes. "There was blood on my fingers..."

"Cadet," Riza said sharply. "It wasn't your fault."

"What have I _done_?" Brantley moaned.

"Listen to me. I don't think the Ishvalans attacked me."

Brantley hardly seemed to acknowledge her. He rocked on the balls of his feet, face buried his hands.

"Cadet!" Hawkeye clipped.

The boy let out a startled 'huh.' His head jerked up and he seemed to see her for the first time. His eyes were red-rimmed and far, far younger than his eighteen years.

"Cadet," Riza said, more gently this time. "Something happened to you. Something happened to both of us." A beat. "Something neither of us can remember."

Brantley sniffed heavily through a snot-clogged nose. "You can't... remember?"

Riza nodded. "I need your help. I need you to tell me everything you know about that night."

"I don't remember anything!" the boy sobbed. "That's the point! Don't you think I would have told by now?"

She crouched in front of the bars to so she was in his field of view. "Where were you before it happened?"

"I was patrolling the ruins. I was doing what I was ordered to do."

"And then...?"

"Nothing. Nothing!" He reached up to scrub his hands through his hair. "Everything was black!"

_Everything __was __black_. It was what she remembered, too. But there was something in the darkness - a looming threat, a power, a _presence_. She leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Did you... Did you _feel_ something?"

The cadet froze in his rocking, balanced perfectly on two feet. He slowly raised his head to meet her stare. He looked shocked. Brantley opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped before he could make a sound. His eyes widened and darted to Riza's left. "Wh- who is _she_?" he whispered.

Riza started and looked up to see Suyin standing under the light. It reflected dully off the red of her clothes, making her appear more torch than woman. The illumination seemed to coil around her, and when she next spoke her voice was heated, intense. "Tell me about this blackness. Tell me what you felt."

The boy shrunk back and sent a fearful look at his commander. "Captain...?"

"Brantley," Riza said smoothly, leaning both hands against the bars. "It's okay. This is Suyin. She's here to help us." She tried to ignore the incredulous snort from the woman behind her. "Tell us what you remember."

"I..." Brantley muttered. "There was someone there... with me. But I don't think she was there. Not really."

Riza and Suyin exchanged a glance. _She?_

"She was holding my head," Brantley continued, voice shaking. "She was pushing something into my brain. It hurt. It hurt!" The boy moaned and buried his head in his hands.

"Who, Cadet?" Riza pressed her face between the bars. "What did she look like?"

"I don't know! I can't remember!" he cried, shuffling back on hands and heels. Soon his back hit the far wall of his cell. "Leave me alone! Leave me alone!"

"Brantley..." Hawkeye began. The boy simply shook his head and sobbed.

"I am going in," Suyin muttered, brushing past Hawkeye with the sound of silk on silk.

"You can't. You don't have a -" Hawkeye watched dumbly as the other woman pulled a pair of pins from her hair and thrust them into the lock. Within seconds, the tumblers rolled out of place and the door swung open. The Xingese woman swept inside without a moment's hesitation.

Brantley shrieked and scrambled back against the wall. "Stay away from me!"

"Suyin! What are you doing?" Hawkeye stumbled up to standing, bracing one hand against the bars as another spell of dizziness spilled over her. "Leave him alone!" she gasped.

Something bright flashed between Suyin's fingers and Riza heard the ringing sound of metal on stone. She peered into the gloom to see five kunai standing upright, embedded in the floor in a perfect circle. Suyin bent down to draw a large star between them with a piece of chalk. Brantley shrieked and turned to claw at the wall, desperate to escape.

"Stop, Suyin!" Riza lurched forward to round the door. She did not remember drawing her gun, but suddenly she felt a familiar, cold weight in her hand. Suyin had already taken hold of Brantley's collar by the time she stepped into the cell. The Xingese woman heaved the boy from the wall and slammed him to the ground, placing his head at the center of the circle. Riza gasped and drew her gun, aiming directly at the other woman's crown. "Stop!"

"You want answers," Suyin said softly. "This is how we find them."

Riza's arms began to shake; even the simple effort of lifting a gun was taxing. "What are you going to do to him?"

Black eyes met brown, and Riza was suddenly struck with how similar Suyin's were to Roy's. It was more than their shape. There was a determination in them - a willingness to do things that were necessary, even if they were ugly. "Make him see," she murmured before diverting her attention back to Brantley. Everything stopped and the air seemed to still.

The cadet shrieked as light sprang from the ground under Suyin's hands. Riza shouted too, but the sound was drowned out by a high-pitched buzzing that seemed to come from the air itself. Hawkeye squeezed the trigger, but her hands were shaking too violently now. The bullet whizzed harmlessly over the other woman's shoulder, ricocheting off the wall in a high-pitched zip. Suyin hardly seemed to notice, too focused on the boy beneath her. She reached up to grasp his head between her hands.

Brantley spasmed as though an electric shock passed through his body. The light from the circle grew brighter and Riza threw one hand over her face to shield her eyes. Through the blinding rays, she could see Suyin crouched over the boy, forehead so close they were nearly touching. She had a look of firm determination on her face. Sweat dripped from her chin.

Riza hung back, afraid to interfere. Who knew what Suyin was doing to him and what would happen if she interrupted the transmutation? She learned as a young girl never to disturb her father at his work. She had been warned time and again what might happen. The reaction could backlash onto anyone. Matter could be destroyed. Time and reality could warp. Riza knew nothing of alkahestry or what she might do to Brantley if she tried. So watched helplessly as the light slowly enveloped both soldier and stranger. The gun felt heavy in her hand; a useless burden.

Finally, Brantley let out one final moan and lay still. The light faded quickly, fading into the earth and leaving bright spots in Riza's eyes. Suyin carefully set the boy's head down and leaned back on her haunches. She appeared thoughtful; her eyes were unfocused, looking at something that seemed away and only half-remembered. Hawkeye stood over her in a moment, gun trained at the Xingese woman's head.

"What the _hell_ was that?" she growled. "What did you _do_ to him?"

Suyin raised her head and peered at the captain as though suddenly realizing she was there. "Do not point that thing at me," she said, though there was no power behind it. Her voice was hoarse. She reached down to brush dirt of her trousers, frowning in annoyance at how badly her fingers trembled. She curled a hand around one of the kunai embedded in the floor instead. It came out from the stone with a soft, high-pitched sound.

"Answer me," Hawkeye said, pressing the gun barrel to the woman's temple. "What did you do?"

Suyin sheathed the knife in her belt and reached for another. Her hands were sure; they did not tremble anymore. "I took his memory. I saw what he saw."

"_What?_ You _saw_?" The gun dropped half a foot before Hawkeye was able to bring it up to Suyin's head again. "You saw what happened to him?"

Suyin shook her head. The last three kunai were out of reach; she would have to lean forward to take them, but she seemed to know that was not something Hawkeye would allow. "I saw flashes. Pieces. He was right. The one who attacked him is female." Suyin's eyes drifted up past the barrel of the gun. "She had red eyes."

Hawkeye let out a long breath and lowered her weapon. "You're certain? You're absolutely certain?"

"Yes. There was another with her, but I could not see their face."

"No," Riza breathed. "No." She stumbled backwards against the bars of the cell.

Suyin made quick work of gathering the rest of her kunai. She delicately brushed off her knees and straightened. "I saw where it happened. He was in the ruins. We must go. I might be able to see more there.."

"What about him?" Hawkeye said. Brantley still lay on the cell floor. The boy's face was peaceful now. His chest moved up and down in the unhurried breaths of a deep sleep.

"He will be fine," Suyin said, apparently more focused on arranging the weapons on her belt than the cadet she handled so viciously only moments before. "He is unharmed. He will not remember we came here." Satisfied with her work, the Xingese woman smoothed the front of her shirt and started toward the cell door. "Come. We must hurry."

"Wait," Riza said, catching hold of the other woman's wrist as she passed. "Stop."

Suyin twitched but did not pull away. "We cannot delay."

Hawkeye's fingers curled more tightly. "Do it to me."

The Xingese woman's head turned so quickly, Riza nearly released her grip. Suyin's face was ghastly white. She seemed shocked, almost appalled. "You do not know what you ask."

"I want you to try to see my memories, too."

"No." Suyin shook her head and tried to jerk out of the captain's grasp.

Hawkeye only held more tightly. "I'm asking you, as part of the favor you owe -"

"No!" Suyin barked, composure cracking for an instant before she regained it again. "It is dangerous. Mustang would not be pleased if I tried such things on you."

"Dangerous?" Riza glanced down at Brantley. "How then do you justify doing it to a helpless cadet?"

Suyin shrugged, this time restlessly, as though trying to throw something uncomfortable off her shoulders. "We needed answers."

"_I _needed answers. I want to know what happened to _me_. I didn't bring you here to hurt one of my men."

Suyin's head tipped down - just a little. Riza could not be sure, but she could swear she saw shame flash over the other woman's face. "I did not hurt him."

"...But you could have," Riza supplied.

"Yes," Suyin admitted. "I could have. The transmutation is delicate. I could have damaged him beyond repair. That is why I will not attempt it on you."

Riza holstered her gun and reached up to take hold of the woman's elbow. "I want you to try."

Suyin sighed and turned her face away, eyes trained on the floor. "No."

"Do it. I'm not afraid."

"That is beside the point," Suyin said evenly and with infuriating calm. Her eyes swung up to meet Riza's. "It will not work on you."

_What?_ Desperation bloomed in Riza's chest. She needed to know. She had to understand what happened to her. Her hands tightened on Suyin's arm. "Why not?"

"Because," Suyin said simply. "As much as you say otherwise, you do not wish to remember." Suyin broke Riza's grip with a deft flick of her hand. "Come. We must go."

-o-o-o-

**A/N: It's been awhile! Please take the time to leave a few words. It takes hours (days, weeks!) to write a chapter, but only minutes to review.**

**Thanks to the wonderful Oedipus Tex for the support. **_**Divine Right of Kings**_** is awesome sauce. Thanks, too, to Disastergirl for the beta. She (finally!) finished her masterpiece, **_**Even of Dead Waters**_**. You'd be a fool not to read.**

**Next Chapter: Hiss (for real this time)**


	15. Hiss

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 15****: Hiss**

**1) **_**noun - **_**an expression of disapproval, contempt, or dissatisfaction**

**2) **_**verb - **_**to utter or whisper angrily or threateningly**

**3) **_**noun - **_**a sharp 'es' sound like that of a snake or steam**

-o-o-o-

"Stop staring."

Havoc leaned back in his seat, smiling warmly at the woman across from him. He cocked his head to one side. "Staring?"

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest and fixed the lieutenant with a scathing look. Havoc wrinkled his nose at her playfully, though he did have to fight a sudden urge to shrink away. He had to hand it to her: She was formidable. "Don't play games with me," she said. "I know about you."

"Oh?" Havoc's smile widened. He never had much luck with women, and it looked like this one would be no different. But he had a lot of practice with the nurses over the past few weeks. "What have you heard about me?"

Rebecca opened her mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it. Her eyes began to drift down for an instant before she jerked her head to stare out the window. "None of your business," she said stiffly.

"Hey," Havoc wheedled. "I thought we were friends."

"And just what gave you that impression?"

Havoc shrugged, all farm-grown ease. "You saved our butts back there on the Promised Day. We couldn't have done it without you. I may not have been there myself, but Breda told me about what you did. About this amazing woman who -"

Havoc saw the corner of her lip curl into a half-smile for the briefest moment before it turned back into an unattractive frown. "Now you're just trying to butter me up. I don't don't like compliments from guys who know nothing about me." She shot him a glance that could peel paint from walls. "Or from guys who stare at me."

Clearly things were going south. "Look," Havoc said. "I can't help that I'm sharing a car with one of the most gorgeous -"

"Oh please," Rebecca snapped. "I'm not falling for that, you nitwit." Her expression was hard - furious, even - but Havoc saw her eyes run over the angle of his jaw and down to his hands before she growled and stared out the window again.

"Who's staring now?" he said with a soft chuckle.

"Argh!" Rebecca said, reaching up to roughly pull the tie from her hair. "I can't believe I'm stuck on a train to Eastern with _you_, of all people."

"I don't mind one bit," he said, tucking both hands behind his head to stretch a knot from his back. His recovery was going quite well - so said the doctors - but he still found it hard to sit in one place for long periods of time. His legs began to ache if he remained idle. "I'm glad to share a compartment with you."

"Hmph."

Havoc smiled a gentle smile. He could not help it. He was beginning to like her. "Where you headed? Got business in Eastern?"

Rebecca paused, fingers still buried in her hair. A strange expression stole over her face: first confused, then guilty. She seemed to hesitate, mouth open, before she managed to reply. "I'm heading... where you're heading," she mumbled as she swept her hair away from her face. Quite the task; the stuff was bushy as hell.

Havoc's face sobered. _She's heading to the same place as me?_ he thought. _How could she know?_ It was not exactly the answer he expected. His departure today - while not secret - was supposed to be something quiet, unnoticed. Apparently he was wrong. The two soldiers stared at one another in silence for a long two minutes as Havoc struggled to blurt the response he had planned should he run into this very problem. "I'm... I was going to visit my... family." The words sounded lame, even to him.

"Don't try," said Rebecca. She finished tying back her hair with a flourish. "I'm not stupid. I know where you're going."

"And where's that?" Havoc hedged. He knew how disarming he could be in the right situation. He was from the East, known to breed particularly trustworthy folk. People seemed to accept his word implicitly - even those he only just met. He used it to his advantage quite often. Apparently such was not the case today.

Rebecca bit her lip but did not look away. "Ishval."

The word rang loud over the sound of wheels on rails. Havoc stared. She was right: he was headed to Ishval, though how she knew he did not know. Frankly, he did not understand why he was headed there himself. Havoc let out a long breath and folded his hands over his stomach to hide the nervous twitch that worried his fingers. He desperately needed a cigarette. "And what makes you think that?"

She looked at him long and hard. Havoc guessed it was to make sure he was not joking with her. He smiled weakly, but her eyes only grew more piercing. Havoc shrunk back in his seat - just a little. "Grumman," Rebecca said. It was the only explanation she needed.

In the awkward silence that followed, Havoc tried his best to keep his face impassive, to reveal nothing to her, to not show how her notice unhinged him. _Grumman_, he mused. _He's the one who sent me to Ishval in the first place... but he definitely didn't mention she'd be along for the ride_. Havoc glanced up at the woman who sat across the way. Rebecca was studying him with those cool, confident eyes, seemingly unsurprised that he did not know.

Havoc had to admit he was shocked when the newly-inaugurated Fuhrer of Amestris strolled into his apartment. It was late in the day, long after he returned from clinic for his daily exercises. Grumman hardly knocked before he thrust the door open, flanked by a pair of burly-looking guards. Havoc was so surprised he nearly tipped forward into his meal. The old man had a friendly smile on his face, but there was a tightness to it that made Havoc uneasy from the start.

The conversation was as unexpected as it was odd.

"_Fuhrer, Sir!" Havoc said, rising to his feet with the help of his cane. He was largely healed, able to walk - even jog short distances - but getting up still caused him difficulty. "What a surprise! What brings you here, sir?"_

_Grumman laughed, his smile wide and glowing white. "Can't an officer visit one of his soldiers? To thank and congratulate a man who's been wounded in the field?" He nodded at the recliner where Havoc sat when he entered the room. "At ease. Have a seat." Grumman signaled his guards to leave and turned back the the lieutenant. "Better to talk in private, no?"_

"_Yes, sir," said Havoc, hastily sweeping a pile of stacked ammunition boxes from the one remaining chair. "Please, make yourself at home... Er, would you like some tea or coffee or something?"_

_The Fuhrer glanced at the rusting teapot resting over Havoc's stove before shaking his head with a small chuckle. "Thank you, but I'm fine." He settled into the chair with a contented sigh. "I just came for a short chat."_

_Havoc nodded and set the Fuhrer a nervous smile. His hand was halfway to a pack of cigarettes before he paused, smiling sheepishly. "Mind if I smoke?"_

"_Not at all."_

_Havoc plopped down on his own seat, grimacing when an uncomfortable tingle traveled down one leg. He got those from time to time, especially late in the day. He plucked a cigarette from the pack on the table and lighter from his pocket, sparking it with practiced ease. "What would you like to talk about, Fuhrer sir?"_

_Grumman smiled gently and leaned forward, both elbows braced on the arms of his chair, fingers tented before his face. He looked more god than Fuhrer: imposing and all-powerful. "I received a call from Ishval this morning." His tone was relaxed - offhand, even - though Grumman seemed to be taking his time, watching the effect of each word._

"_You did, sir?" Havoc blurted before he could stop himself. He hadn't heard anything from his comrades stationed in the East, and was beginning to feel a bit lonely. Nurses were all well and good, but he missed playing cards with Breda and Falman. He missed Fuery and his unrelenting naivete. He missed Hawkeye's tranquil demeanor and... Mustang, more than anything. His life had been rather dull without the former colonel around._

"_Yes." The fuhrer drew the word out in a thoughtful hiss. "It was from Captain Hawkeye."_

_A thrill rushed through Havoc's chest. "Hawkeye? Really?... I was hoping to hear from them before this. It's been weeks..." Havoc's voice trailed as Grumman's face became sharp and calculating. He seemed to be waiting for something._

"_You haven't heard from them?" the Fuhrer said with a smile, though he emphasized each syllable to make his words as clear as possible. "You're _certain_?"_

"_Y-yes, sir. I'm sure," Havoc said. Just what was the old man getting at?_

"_No letters? No calls? Not even a whisper?"_

"_No, sir..." Havoc said. "Um, is everything going okay in Ishval?"_

"_Everything is fine," Grumman said, the first trace of bitterness tinging his voice. "According to Captain Hawkeye, things are going swimmingly." The old man pushed up his glasses. The lenses flashed in the light of the nearby window , obscuring his eyes. "That's why I came to speak with you, lieutenant. She asked to have you sent there immediately."_

_Havoc hardly realized his mouth was open until he felt the cigarette teetering on the edge of his lip. He coughed and managed to catch the butt between two fingers. With how things were going at the moment, he would need a smoke. "She... did?"_

"_Yes, lieutenant," Grumman said. His voice was growing harsher now, and suddenly Havoc could see that beneath the guise of a cheerful old man lay a formidable leader willing to go to great lengths to win. Grumman knew how to get what he wanted, how to squeeze things from men by whatever means necessary. "She practically ordered me to send you to Ishval. Now why would she ask me to do a thing like that?"_

"_I have no idea, sir," Havoc said honestly._

"_No idea," Grumman said. "None at all."_

"_No... sir."_

"_Will you go to Ishval?"_

_Havoc didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir."_

_Grumman studied him, crinkling blue eyes sharp and cold as ice. An long silence stretched between the two men. After a time, Havoc cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, and the old man smiled as though a battle had been won. "I see," he said, clapping his hands on his thighs. A decision had been made, though Havoc was unsure what. "Well, I'd better leave you to your packing."_

"_Y-yes sir. T- thank you, sir," Havoc said. He watched dumbly as one of the most powerful men in Amestris strolled quietly to his apartment door._

"_Oh, one last thing," said Grumman, his voice light - an aside that hardly needed mentioning. "Captain Hawkeye asked me to tell you - " The old man paused, face plastered in a smile that hid too much. _

"_Yes, sir?"_

"_She wanted to make sure your uniform still fits."_

"_My... my uniform, sir?"_

"_That's what she said," Grumman replied. "Said you're to go to a tailor if it doesn't." The old man cocked his head, eyes twinkling. "Important to keep up appearances in Ishval, no?"_

"_I suppose you're right, sir," Havoc said, struggling to keep his face innocuously flabbergasted. Meanwhile, his mind reeled. "Thank you. I'll start packing right away."_

_Grumman's lips dropped into the smallest of frowns before he bared his teeth again. This time it appeared more grimace than smile. "Good luck, soldier." The door clicked shut behind him, and Havoc collapsed in his seat, already mulling over his new orders. He was no fool. Something went wrong in Ishval, and they needed his help._

Havoc glanced at the woman sitting across from him. "Grumman sent you," he said flatly.

Rebecca nodded, once.

"Why?"

She shook her head. "He didn't tell me that much."

Havoc frowned. "Kind of useless, don't ya think?"

Rebecca sent him another heated look. "Who's useless?"

"I'm just saying... usually when I'm sent on a mission, I at least know why."

"I know _why_, you stupid man," she seethed. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on _you_. You and all the other members of Mustang's team"

Havoc blinked. "What?"

"He suspects Riza hasn't told him the truth, you idiot. He thinks something else is going on."

"He told you this?"

"No," she huffed. "But I can put two and two together. My orders are to report back 'any suspicious activity.' That's what I was sent to do." She smiled at Havoc's distraught face and lifted a calming hand. "Don't worry. Some loyalties lie deeper than orders I get from the military. Riza is my best friend. I want to help you guys. We can sort out the rest later."

Havoc eyed her uneasily. The urge to smoke was now overwhelming.

"Now," Rebecca said, slapping her knee briskly with the flat of one hand. "Tell me why Riza sent for you."

Havoc laughed, but there was no humor to it. The situation was not funny at all. He was merely a pawn in a great game, with no knowledge of the rules or even what pieces were in play. Havoc shook his head and tried not to let his eyes travel to the other end of the car, where a dark-haired passenger sat with his back to them. "Why did Hawkeye send for me? I have no fucking clue."

-o-o-o-

Roy leaned back in his chair. He felt exhausted, and he ached everywhere. He had not slept in days. His apartment felt too hollow for rest - cold in a way only emptiness is cold - and he spent the last few nights alone in his office. Without someone to help him with his papers work was impossible, so he passed the long, dark hours lost in tortuous thought. Of what he had done. Of what he failed to do.

Riza was gone. Gone in a way he never experienced before. They were separated many times in the past: after he left her father's tutelage to enter the military, when he went away to war, after Bradley took her away from him. But in all those times, there was an underlying hope, a whispered promise that they would be together again. This time was different. He shut the door on the hope of _them_ and he did not know if it would ever be opened again. He never knew it was possible to _feel_ emptiness, but an aching void lived in his chest from the moment he walked away. It was fathomless; it could not be filled. The only thing that kept him from despair was the faraway perception of someone he loved.

It was faint now, but he could still feel it: the pulse of her. He did not recognize it until after Suyin left him alone in the desert. Something lingered on the edges of his senses, a thing that lived and breathed and _felt_. It was not until he focused on it - drew it into the forefront of his thoughts - that he saw what it was: Riza. He could feel her. He could sense where she was and - distantly - her emotions. It was a sensation of unnatural certainty: if he closed her eyes and concentrated, he could point in her direction.

Not that it did him much good. Their last parting made it perfectly clear: they could never be together. And so he remained in the solitude of his office, issuing orders through Falman or other, nameless soldiers as he felt the beacon that was Riza move through the camp. It was hard to focus, but he was determined to keep the construction operating smoothly in Ishval. It was the one thing he could do.

Despite his best efforts, he was distracted this morning - pulled away by her. She was moving - her first time out of the infirmary since she had been injured. She made her way slowly, still weak from her injuries. Mustang tipped his head against the back of his chair and imagined her make the journey back to the officer's quarters, the steady rise and fall of her feet on the wooden planks that lined the walkways. His mind followed her to the edge of the camp before he was thrown from his thoughts. Falman had entered the room.

"Sorry, sir," the Lieutenant muttered. "A few more papers for you to sign."

"Yes," Mustang said, careful to keep his face impassive. "Which papers, Falman?" He heard the lieutenant cross the room.

"Approvals for building sites. The ones we discussed earlier this morning, sir." Falman was an efficient man; he went about his duties with a briskness that put Hawkeye to shame. For Mustang, it was something of a relief. He needed cool stoicism now. He heard the sound of paper on the desk in front of him. A pen slid into his hand. He felt the lieutenant's fingers grasp his wrist and place the tip at the place he was to sign.

Then Falman withdrew, more quickly than necessary.

Mustang stiffened, flooded with new guilt. As crisp and professional as Falman was, even he was wary. There was a part of the lieutenant that was afraid of him. Roy wished he could back in time. When Riza served as his aide, before the events of the past few days, her hand would remain on his, warm and solid. She held him steady, waiting for him to finish his work. Her warmth and nearness would blanket his arm, her lavender scent filling his nose...

_Stop,_ he thought. _Stop dwelling on the memory of her_. He had to look to the future. To think about what he could do to salvage what was left. He could not bear to face her again if he did not confront the darkness that dwelled in his heart and the mistakes he made because of it.

"...Sir?"

Mustang started. "Sorry," he muttered, shaking his head. He set to signing. It was quick, thoughtless work - exactly what he needed. Thankfully, Falman was characteristically silent. Mustang was grateful for the lieutenant's subscription to policy and cold professionalism. He could not have asked for a better aide given the situation.

The stack of papers quickly thinned under Mustang's hands. He was nearing the final pages when a loud, insistent knock came from his office door. Roy started and jerked his head up, feeling Falman shift at his side.

"I'll get it, sir," the lieutenant said. "Probably Yantz here with the remainder of the documents." His boots tapped briskly against the wood floor as he crossed the room. There was a pause before Mustang heard the door open.

Then a resounding silence.

"Let us in, Lieutenant," said a familiar voice.

Mustang half-rose from his chair. "Major Miles?"

He heard Falman's offended cry and the soft scuffing of boots. The door shut soon after; Miles had let himself in.

"Watch the door, Falman," Miles said. His voice was grave.

A rising feeling flew from Mustang's gut to his throat. _He knows_. "What is this about, Major?"

"General," Miles said, his voice low and urgent. "We need to talk."

-o-o-o-

"Suyin!" Riza called as loudly as she dared. The other woman was at least twenty paces ahead, but it might as well have been a mile. They were at the edge of the camp, the barracks still in sight, though their view of the squat buildings wavered in the simmering noontime heat.

Suyin turned to regard her with clear, sharp eyes. Her fingers twitched nervously at her side; she was anxious to keep moving. "Yes?"

Riza stumbled forward. The sand was deep here; each step sunk past her ankles. They had only journeyed a fraction of the distance to the ruins, and she was already exhausted. "Where are we going? What did you see?"

"I told you," Suyin said calmly. "I saw the place where the cadet was attacked."

"In the ruins?"

"Yes." Suyin turned away. "Come. Hurry."

"Dammit," Riza growled under her breath and struggled after the other woman, who looked like she was walking over a paved road rather than the loose footing Riza trudged through. It was early, but the day was already sweltering. Sweat soaked through Riza's turtleneck and into her uniform. A twinge set deep into her chest, making it hard to breathe. She was weary and still suffering from her injuries. But she could not stop now. She had to find the well of strength she drew on so many times in the past. At the moment it seemed unreachable. Too deep. Running dry.

The journey across the sand took ages. The faraway buildings never seemed to draw close no matter how long they walked. It was over an hour before the ground grew firm under their feet. Foundation stones thrust up through the dunes like broken teeth. The wind moaned through the ruins, an eternal cry that spoke of an aching sense of loss. Stone walls loomed above them; the empty windows stared down in a silent, austere warning to stay away. Riza felt the sudden urge to cower like a child.

It had been years since she walked these streets. For weeks, she lied to herself, that her duties in camp were too many for her to visit the Ishvalan ruins. In truth, Riza did not want return, to be reminded of the role she played in the war. It held too many memories for her. Too many hot days hidden under a hood, waiting for the next Ishvalan to walk into her sights. Her trigger finger itched. So many lives... and for what? There was only pain and emptiness here. She wished she could go back and undo everything. She wished she could forget. Forget she was a soldier... and perhaps even forget _him_. Roy. Her breath shuddered in her chest and a familiar ache tugged at her throat.

Riza was so lost in thought she nearly stumbled over Suyin, who was crouched in the shade of a teetering wall. The older woman placed a steadying hand on Hawkeye's hip before motioning to a spot beside her. Riza sunk down, grateful to be out of the blistering sun. Suyin passed her a canteen, which she accepted with a weak smile. The Xingese woman offered her a small smile in return before turning to stare into the whistling expanse.

Riza swallowed and wiped her lips of sweat-damp sand. "Suyin?"

"Mm?"

"May I ask something?"

"More questions?" Suyin sighed. She sent a sly look at Hawkeye from the corner of her eye.

"I've been thinking..." Riza said slowly. "You weren't the first one to heal me with Alkahestry."

Suyin nodded; she knew this already

"How is it possible? Alchemy is limited in its ability to heal."

Suyin smiled indulgently. "The art of alkahestry involves resonance between two things." She lifted her hand and her fingers rose and fell in a soft wave. "A connection - a bond - between two _chis_. When I heal, it is in harmony with that person. I find their chi and use it. With this, it is possible to speed what the body would do on its own. It is possible to close wounds and knit bone."

Riza nodded, encouraging the other woman to continue.

"However, more serious or permanent injuries," Suyin's arm slashed the air, "...scars, fatal wounds, blows to the chest or head... they require more." Suyin's hands came together, fingers meshed tightly. "The _chi_s must join. They must be one." Her hands dropped to her lap. "I am not capable of this thing. Few are."

"Do you know someone who..."

Suyin shook her head. "I told you. I do not know who healed your scars."

"But it was the same person who attacked Brantley."

"Yes." The word fell like a hammer, certain.

"How could you know that? Did you sense something when you healed me?"

The Xingese woman froze. She hardly seemed to breathe. Riza watched her closely through the sun-bleached veil of her lashes. Finally, Suyin looked away and muttered a soft "... Yes."

"What was it? Did you sense who it was?"

Suyin ran a hand over the pommel of one knife. "I felt a trace of something. Something dark."

"What was it?"

"I am not sure."

Riza's hand fell on the sand like a gavel. "Just tell me what you know, even if it's only suspicion."

Suyin growled. "I. am. not. sure." She bit out the words, anger edging each one, and crossed her arms in a way that said she did not wish to talk about the topic any further.

Riza nodded mutely and wrapped her hands around her knees. This is what she feared most: the unknowns and missing variables. The few things they _did_ know were frightening: the enemy had the ability to heal scars and warp minds - powers that seemed impossible. It was now clear to Riza that this Ishvalan had a Philosopher's stone. She was not sure what they would find in the desert, but she knew the two of them were no match for the person behind these attacks.

Riza shrugged off the thought; if she let such things stop her in the past, she never would have survived the Promised Day. "Do you think something will be there?" Riza said as a means to break the moaning silence. "In the ruins, I mean?"

"Perhaps," Suyin said. "It depends on many things."

"Like what?"

"If there is something left. Something I can sense."

Riza sighed through her nose. More dependence on an art she did not completely trust. More half-answered questions.

Suyin smiled at Riza's troubled expression. "We shall see." She rose and brushed off her pants. "Come. It may take some time to find this place."

-o-o-o-

The train let out a hiss of steam as Havoc stepped onto the platform. He turned to offer Rebecca his arm, but the woman merely snorted and called him a 'fool.' Havoc grinned. It was worth a try.

Dry heat rushed over both soldiers' faces. The wind came from the south: their destination. On the horizon Havoc could see hazy figures moving around a cart laden with wooden beams. Train tracks were just being laid to the city of Ishval; linemen made tiny by distance carried rails to and fro as they worked. There was still much progress to be made, and the rest of their journey would be by car. Havoc eyed the vehicle wearily. His back and legs already ached from hours sitting on the train, and he was not looking forward to another long trip. He hardly noticed when Rebecca laid a surprisingly gentle hand on his arm.

"Not chickening out on me, are you?"

Havoc shot her a sheepish grin. "Nope," he said. "Never. Ya mind grabbing my cane...?"

Rebecca gave him a hard, calculating look before she snatched the cane from the rail where Havoc hung it a few seconds before, claiming it was too ungainly to use on the landing. He actually did not need the thing anymore, but learned long ago that good health and a strong body did not last. As his mother said, 'better safe than sorry.'

Havoc and Rebecca joined the string of people heading toward the cars that would take them across the desert. Most in the crowd were soldiers, though there were more than a few civilians peppering the group - brown and grey specks in a sea of overwhelming blue. He tried not to dwell on any faces. Rebecca was watching too closely, and it would take little to rouse her suspicion.

"How 'bout this one?"

"Hm?" Havoc said absently.

Rebecca jabbed his shoulder with one stiff finger. "How 'bout we take this car? It's reserved for officers." The finger jabbed again, eliciting a yelp from the helpless Havoc. "Hurry. We gotta get a seat before they fill up and we're forced to take the bus with the cadets."

Havoc eyed the low-riding car with more than a little trepidation. The seats looked hard. His leg tingled; an unnecessary reminder of his injury and the pain he would feel on the trip. "I guess..."

"C'mon, you lug."

Before Havoc could utter a word of protest, the woman had ushered him towards the car. She was not gentle about it. Once inside, Havoc found he was absolutely right: the seats were about as comfortable as a wooden board covered in leather. In fact, he was pretty sure that's exactly what they were.

It did not take long for the rest of the soldiers to file into their respective vehicles. The frontmost cars were reserved for officers and their guards, as well as upper-class civilians who either volunteered or were consigned to help in Ishval: doctors, architects, carpenters and the like. Anticipation threaded the air, thick enough to cut. Most of the non-military folk looked excited: Ishval was a vacation for them, a place of stories and adventure. But those dressed in uniform were more serious, with faces wan and grim. Havoc saw signs of raw nerves everywhere: shaking hands quickly hidden in pockets, handkerchiefs brought out to wipe brows beaded with sweat, the shine of tears on lashes.

Rebecca also noted the overarching tension. "Look at these kids. They're sweating bullets." She nudged Havoc in the side. "Remember those days?"

Havoc nodded and watched one of the cadets fumble with his gun. He was a smooth-faced, ruddy-cheeked boy with Eastern coloring - not much older than seventeen. Havoc guessed they weren't twenty miles from where the boy was raised. Now he was a soldier, assigned to Ishval. He imagined the boy's mother on his final day at home. She probably made him pot roast and all his favorite things, just as Havoc's mother did on the eve of his departure.

"It's not like they're going to war," Rebecca continued hotly. She crossed her arms over her chest, proving that she at least was made of tougher stuff.

Havoc smiled at her weakly and shrugged, increasingly troubled. Hawkeye asked sent for him specifically. She even asked Fuhrer Grumman to issue the order. She would not have done such a thing unless there were something wrong - unless she needed help. What was happening in Ishval, and why she send her message so secretly, in such a roundabout way? What part could he possibly play?

Perhaps Rebecca was wrong. Perhaps war was brewing out there on the sand.

Perhaps he was heading into disaster.

-o-o-o-

The city rose above them like the remains of a long-dead animal. Empty buildings towered on either side, some pristine and seemingly untouched, others nothing more than piles of rubble. The stones near the street were worn smooth by windblown sand. Here and there they could see remnants of a people lost: a broken jar. An overturned wagon. A wayward, decaying doll.

Suyin strode past these things without a sideways glance. She was a woman with a destination, guided by senses Riza could not begin to understand. She navigated the ruins, drawn by something unseen. Riza struggled to keep up.

They entered a plaza - a ring of ruined buildings with an untouched fountain at its center. Sand piled in drifts over the paths that ringed the area; they shifted and moved like something alive. Suyin strode forward several paces, still confident. Suddenly she paused, foot frozen in the act of taking the next step. Her arm darted out to stop Riza before she could walk any further.

"What is it?" Riza murmured, voice parched. Her hand drifted to the grip of her gun.

Suyin shook her head, eyes scanning the edge of the plaza. Her hand dropped heavily on Riza' shoulder, pushing the captain down behind a low wall. Suyin hunched at her side. "Someone is here," she breathed into Hawkeye's ear. Riza nodded and quietly pulled the gun from its holster.

For a time, there was only the hiss of sand on sand. Drifts ebbed and flowed over the smooth paving stones and wind keened through cracks in the rubble. Minutes seemed to stretch to hours, and Riza shrugged uncomfortably as sweat rolled down her back. Suyin was motionless beside her but Riza sensed the other woman was ready to act: coiled like a spring.

Something shuffled at the edge of the plaza. Both women tensed, hands on their weapons. Not two seconds later, a tangled head of white hair peeked into view. Suyin's pulled a kunai free and her legs bunched beneath her.

"Wait," Riza whispered, resting her hand on the other woman's arm. "Let's just watch."

The head cleared the dune. Riza could see more clearly now: it was a boy, perhaps in his early teens. His coloring was Ishvalan, although his skin was more deeply tanned than most, as though the boy spent most of his days unclothed outdoors. He murmured softly to himself as he crested the dune, and soon Riza could see the wildness in his eyes, the way they skittered to and fro but never focused on one thing.

"The boy is touched," Suyin whispered.

Riza nodded. "I think he might be one of the lost children." She grimaced when Suyin sent her a questioning look. "A child abandoned in the war, left to die." A great hollowness filled Riza's chest. If it was true, she played a part in this boy's isolation and ensuing madness. She squeezed Suyin's arm, whether for reassurance or to draw the other woman's attention, she was not sure. "Let me talk to him." She took a deep breath and stood.

The boy reacted to her sudden appearance as a wild animal might, drawing back and hissing through half-rotted teeth before falling into a crouch. Red eyes flashed under the fringe of his hair.

Riza was a woman of many worlds. When she was young, she was raised far away from the cities, on green fields in a house dank with decay. Her father was not a social creature and the children at school were cruel, so Riza found friendship where she could, in the the animals of the farms that bordered her father's property. She soon learned she had a way with them. She calmed them, earned their trust.

One day while walking home from school, she found a fox trapped in a tangle of barbed wire. The poor creature was frothy with fear and pain, and by the time Riza arrived he could do nothing but hiss as she approached. He tried to bite her hand when she took hold of the wire to free him. But then she whistled, a down-bending, tuneless thing that started high and ended low. It seemed to calm the little fox, and soon she managed to pull the mess away.

The boy seemed no different, trapped and afraid, unsure of a thing so much bigger and so _different_ from him. Riza whistled just as she had with the fox and the boy listened, frozen in place - an openmouthed statue.

Riza whistled again and stepped around the rim of the fountain. The boy was fully in view now; she could see a knife strapped to his belt. He was bare-chested and filthy, covered in days' worth of sweat and sand. The boy was thin - there was no question - but not as severely as Riza might have thought for a child who survived alone in the desert. Somehow this Ishvalan boy managed to thrive.

The child let out a soft babble and slowly rose from his crouch. His face transformed from wariness to wonder, and he stared at her as though he had never seen anything like her in his life. Riza took the opportunity to draw nearer, stepping carefully over the slippery dunes. The boy hardly moved, still transfixed like she was a ghost made flesh.

It was not long before she was only an arm's length away. The boy seemed unafraid, his body loose and open. He barely flinched when Riza slowly dropped to her haunches, at his level.

"Hello," Riza said softly.

The boy cooed and dropped his head, looking shyly at her from beneath his fringe.

"What's your name?" She wished she had some food to tempt him, but in her haste to leave she left all thoughts of rations behind. Instead she held out an empty hand: an offering of human comfort.

The boy shook his head. It was not a reply - the movement was too jerky and unnatural for that. Rather it seemed he wanted to express something that his maddened mind would not allow. His eyes shot up to the space above her head, expression suddenly hungry. The boy shifted from foot to foot before his hand shot up like a viper striking its prey.

He moved so quickly, Riza had no chance to duck or even flinch. She only managed a single bark of alarm before she felt the boy's hand catch in her hair. She heard Suyin shout her name from behind her, worry coloring her ordinarily impassive voice. But after the flurry, Riza found she was unscathed. The boy hardly touched her. Riza held up a single hand to stop Suyin before she interrupted. She knew the boy meant no harm. He only wished to see her hair.

The strange Ishvalan rolled the few strands he managed to catch between two fingers, transfixed. He muttered something below his breath and a smile flashed over his face before it slackened, drawn into the color again. Without a word, Riza reached up and undid the hair clasp that held her hair. It tumbled into the boy's waiting hands and he laughed with joy, running his fingers through it as though it were the finest silk. The strands caught the light, turning to liquid gold under the glow of sun and sand alike.

The boy muttered again - this time a single word. Riza recognized it as Ishvalan; she picked up a handful of phases during the conflict and the many years that followed. She stiffened. The word was one she recognized well. The most basic word in any language, the first uttered by infants all over the world:

_Mother._

-o-o-o-

**A/N: A much wiser, more talented author suggested I split this chapter in two. Hopefully that means the next one will come a bit sooner (riiiiiiight..)! This chapter is un-beta'd, so if there are any sticky parts or spelling errors it's entirely my fault.**

**Thanks to the amazing Minerva Aemilius for her huge support. Check out her stories!**

**Reviews are much appreciated! Next chapter should be exciting stuff.**

**Next Chapter****: Splash**


	16. Splash

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 16 - Splash ( / 'spla****sh / )**

**1) **_**verb**_** - to scatter about in flying pieces**

**2) **_**verb**_** - to display very noticeably**

**3) **_**noun**_** - a great though often short-lived impression**

**4) **_** noun**_** - the sound of water spattering about**

-o-o-o-

"What were you thinking?" Miles seethed. "Do you know what you could have done?"

"I'm not a fool," Mustang bit. His fingers curled on his now-forgotten paperwork. They crumpled in his hands and he did not care. "I know how it appears. You have to understand: My captain was attacked. Someone was to blame. There was a mark carved on her back..."

"You didn't think to ask me?" Miles shouted. "You didn't think to go to the one person who has access to - ?"

"There was no reason!" said Mustang. "The attack was clearly aimed at me. You didn't need to be involved."

"All the more reason! It was personal. Your judgement was clouded. You should have known -"

"She nearly died!" Roy trembled as his arms remembered the weight of Riza's limp, bloodsoaked body. "Someone was to blame!"

"Did you stop for a _moment_ to think?" Miles shouted. "No! Your recklessness will cost us everything we worked for!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Mustang spat. "It was a mistake. It doesn't change the fact someone means to destroy-"

"I can't believe you thought you could hide this from us," Miles sneered. "How dare you, you fucking -"

"Enough." Scar's even tone cut through the din. "Arguing now will not change anything."

Mustang snarled and whirled away. His initial shock at Miles' unannounced arrival quickly disappeared when he discovered the Major was accompanied by the man who once was his enemy. Mustang should have suspected the identity of their informant, and he felt betrayed that Miles kept such important information from him for so long. Scar was undeniably invaluable to their efforts, but he could not trust such a man to remain loyal to their cause.

Riza was right: Miles should have told them from the start.

Worse was the shame: the knowledge that Miles and Scar _knew_. They knew _h__e_ was why they teetered on the edge of conflict. _H__e_ was the reason Breda lay in a hospital bed. Mustang bowed his head and pressed a fist against his lips until he tasted blood.

"General," Miles said, his voice low and heated. "They told me you were a leader. They said you wanted to help this country."

Mustang gasped as something ripped deep inside him. "I do," he whispered. It was hard to see how that could happen now. He felt so lost and directionless - a man, incomplete. _I need to think. I need time to think!_

Miles made a soft hissing noise between his teeth. "You have some way of showing how much you -"

"Enough!" said Scar. "This is going nowhere. We don't have much time."

Mustang turned toward the sound of Scar's voice. There was something alarming to it, an undercurrent of urgency. "What do you mean?"

Scar's voice dropped so as to not carry to the hall outside. "The Resistance was spurred into action after what happened. They see this as an opportunity to take control."

Mustang's gut twisted. The situation was more dire than he feared. "Tell me."

"They know about the caravan," Miles cut in. "They mean to intercept the water supply."

"_What?_" The floor seemed to tip under his feet.

"It's true," Scar said. "One of my men is in their inner circle. Shane knows we're weak now. He thinks with the water he'll have what he needs to take control. He thinks the Ishvalan civilians will lose faith in the Amestrian army. And he will have a way to bargain with the Counsel to get what he wants."

"They will negotiate," Miles muttered darkly. "Especially once they learned what _you_ did."

The dark world he inhabited cartwheeled around him, turned over and over until he lost his sense of place. Mustang reached for the back of his chair as dizzying fear threatened to overwhelm him. He let out a shuddering breath as the burden of this insurmountable situation fell on his shoulders - an unbearable weight. "When?" He managed to whisper. "Do you know when?"

Scar sighed. "Tonight."

-o-o-o-

"Look," Rebecca said, leaning over Havoc to point out the window. Her shoulder pressed into his chest. "Can you see it? The Bracchus mountain range is just ahead."

Havoc nodded and leaned close to the pane. A long expanse of mountains spread in either direction: a single, massive band. Some called it the 'Mountain Finger' or 'The Arm' for which it was named, but where Havoc was raised in the East, they called it 'The Fence': an impenetrable expanse of mountains, known to be difficult to traverse. Only one narrow pass - the Cruachan - served as the main entry point into Ishval. Other, wider openings existed and were used during the war, but many were now blocked, covertly destroyed by Ishvalans in the years following their defeat. Havoc crowded close to the window as they drew near. The mountains towered over them like the walls of some grey, foreboding fortress. The car went over a large bump and his forehead brushed against the surface, leaving an oily smear. Havoc frowned and rubbed at the thing with his sleeve, but he only managed to spread it further. It was then that he noticed his hands were trembling.

Rebecca leaned back in her seat with a sigh. "Never realized it was so big."

Havoc nodded. This was his first time seeing the mountain range up close - his first time in Ishval. It felt strange. Being raised so near the war-torn area, he sometimes felt as though he _did_ serve in Ishval. He knew more than his fair share about the war. Men in his hometown were prone to telling stories; their accounts of heroism and bravery were what convinced Havoc to enlist. He learned so much since then. About the truth of things. About what is was to kill a man. About how the leaders of their country betrayed them.

Mustang and Hawkeye rarely talked about their time in Ishval, but Havoc knew enough of both soldiers and enough of war to understand why their faces darkened when confronted with the subject. He knew the war irreparably broke a deep part of both of them. But it also changed them into the people he knew - into leaders, focused on a goal to make their country a better place. He realized now that Ishval was a crucible: a place where one became who he or she was destined to be. It seemed surreal to be here now, like stepping into someone else's dream.

The car rumbled along for a time, its occupants largely silent. To say the ride was uncomfortable was an understatement. Havoc and Catalina were wedged in the back seat of the car along with another officer, Sergeant Renault - a young man from the West with rounded cheeks and an accent that reminded Havoc of a young Breda. Tingles travelled down Havoc's legs when the car went over ruts in the road or jounced over potholes. Havoc suppressed the urge to shift his weight. He was getting tired of hearing Catalina's not-so-subtle comments on how he was 'squirly' and 'more fidgety than a five-year-old.' Havoc thought that a bit unfair, given the fact that _she_ was the one pressed against _his_ side. Granted, there was not much room in the back seat, but Sergeant Renault did not have to suffer her elbow jutting into his rib.

"We're about to go through," Lieutenant Panzer called excitedly from the front seat.

Havoc slouched to peer out the window and Rebecca leaned over him again to get a view of the spectacle. The Cruachan Pass was a marvel of alchemy, a perfectly rounded arch of smooth granite carved directly into the root of the mountain. The tunnel spanned its entire width; it was a wonder it hadn't collapsed long ago. The inner surface was completely unmarred, polished to a mirror-sheen by years of wind and sand. Havoc gasped and jerked back as the walls suddenly flashed before the window, less than a foot away. The pass was barely wide enough to fit the car.

"Shit," Havoc whispered. He grinned and turned to Catalina, who chuckled.

"Close quarters," she agreed. "S'why we have to go single file like this."

Havoc frowned. "Not exactly a tactical advantage."

She nodded. "Big problems during the war. And causing them to this day. Imagine the water vans trying to get through _that_."

Havoc swivelled in his seat to see the backlit silhouette of the bus pass under the entry point. The top just barely made it under the ceiling, brushing against the lip of the arch in a shower of sparks. It was a tight squeeze, but the bus rumbled on. Havoc let out a breath he did not realize he was holding. "How _do_ the water vans get through?"

"They don't, doofus." Catalina poked his shoulder. She was making a habit of that. Havoc was fairly certain he was developing a bruise under his uniform. "They go around, to the Uisce Pass."

Havoc blinked. "That's 150 miles west of here."

"Mmm," she agreed. "Not exactly the best roads leading there, either. They've had a lot of problems getting water to the camps."

"Why don't they just alchemize this thing bigger?" Havoc waved his hand at the darkness that arched above their car. "So it can fit the trucks or whatnot."

Rebecca shook her head. "Didn't you read _any _of your orders before you came here?" she said. "No alchemy in Ishval. That's the agreement."

"Ah," Havoc said, squinting out the front window now. A tiny halo of light was growing at the end of the tunnel: the faraway exit. "That's no good."

Rebecca snorted. "You're telling me."

-o-o-o-

The boy gripped Riza's hand tightly as though afraid she might disappear. He huddled against her side and his wide, wary eyes followed Suyin's every move. The Xingese woman had stepped out from her hiding place after Riza told her it was safe to approach. Suyin moved slowly - without any sudden moves - but the boy seemed distressed by her appearance alone.

"It's okay," Riza murmured, running her thumb over his knuckles. The boy only pressed closer, his bony shoulder jabbing into her middle.

Suyin seemed as suspicious of the boy as he was of her, watching him with her sharp, calculating eyes. Even from this distance, Riza could feel the tightness in the other woman's stance, the care she took to make each movement slow and fluid. Hawkeye was unsure why Suyin was so wary around a boy half their size and clearly not right of mind. The child was terrified and alone - incapable of harming anyone. He even began to tremble as Suyin passed the halfway point of the plaza, his palm damp against her hand. Suyin sensed his fear, and brought open hands before her to show she meant no harm.

"Slowly," Riza cautioned.

Suyin grimaced but did as she was told. She paused between each step, one after another - a dancer forced through her routine at half the speed. The boy seemed to calm at this but Suyin's face only twisted into a frown. "What do you intend to do with... this?"

Riza shushed the boy, who cried out at the sound of other woman's voice. Soft as it was, even Riza found it alarming. It reverberated hollowly off the stone plaza, becoming something bigger than what it was. "We can't just leave him here," Riza said.

"He clearly fended for himself until now," Suyin said, and undercurrent of impatience tinging her voice. "We must be moving."

"No." Riza's hand tightened on the boy's. He squeezed back, weak and tentative. "We can't. What if he's not alone? Maybe there are others."

Suyin was only a few paces away now. "Others?" She frowned at the boy as though studying him under a new light. Something dawned on her face and she started forward again. "Perhaps there are."

The child tried to back away as Suyin approached, but Riza placed a steadying hand on his back, gently blocking escape. The boy murmured something under his breath. This time Riza recognized nothing; whatever he said, it was not Ishvalan. "Shh," Riza hushed. The boy fretted and swayed from foot to foot, but remained in place. For better or worse, he seemed to trust her.

"Hold him there," Suyin said, slowly dropping to her knees. "Keep him still." She did not look away from the boy, who suddenly seemed captivated by the older woman's gaze.

"What are you going to do?" Riza said, pulling the child's hand into her belly. Images of a panicked Brantley surfaced in her mind, his frantic attempts to escape as Suyin approached. His screams of terror when the woman grabbed him by the collar and slammed him to the ground. She could never allow that to happen to this poor, insane little boy. "Don't hurt him."

"I will not harm him," Suyin said calmly, though her hard tone did little to reassure her. "I merely wish to See."

_See. _There was something about the way Suyin said that word. There was a weight, a _meaning_ that conveyed so much more than the sense Riza knew. It meant something deep and profound. It meant alkahestry. "Will it be like when you - ?"

Suyin shook her head. "No. The cadet was different. The memories were forced from him. He was an erased slate. Only remnants remained." She smiled and cocked her head at the boy. "This one is an open book. He has remained silent, without a voice for too long." She held her hand out to the child, open and welcoming. The boy sighed something and pressed closer into Riza's side.

"Don't hurt him," Riza said again, cupping the back of his head before she realized. She could not help but comfort the poor creature. She did not know what Suyin intended.

The Xingese woman smirked. Her eyes flicked up to Riza's. "Trust me."

_I'm not sure if I can_, Riza thought grimly. But she dropped to her haunches, sliding one hand down the boy's shoulder as she went. The other remained clasped tightly in his. She turned him to face her, and the boy's eyes flicked to her, his smile watery and insane. Riza offered a warm one in return and nodded toward Suyin, who was still kneeling with arm outstretched. "It's okay," she said. She brushed the gnarled hair from his forehead. _Don't be frightened, little fox_.

The boy slipped his hand from Riza's and hesitantly reached out, pausing for an instant before placing his palm against Suyin's. The Xingese woman smiled gently at the boy. Then she breathed deeply through her nose and closed her eyes.

A shiver travelled through the child's frail body - the last leaf on the end of an autumn twig. For a time there was nothing but silence and the sound of wind on sand. The boy trembled again. Riza opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when his entire body suddenly went slack like a puppet loosed from its strings. She reached forward to take hold of his hips before he toppled; somehow, she managed to keep him from falling.

Then silence. Neither Suyin nor the boy moved for a long time.

Minutes passed. Ages. Riza trembled as his weight began to wear on her already-tired arms. After what seemed an eternity, Suyin sighed and opened her eyes. "It is nice to meet you, too," she murmured to the boy, who straightened as though nothing had happened. He exchanged a watery smile with the Xingese woman, completely at ease. Riza searched Suyin's face for answers and was surprised to find it flushed. Her eyes were glowing and fervent, lips split in a genuine grin.

"What - ?" Riza said.

Suyin brushed her pants and rose to stand in a single movement. "Come," she said breathlessly. "Devon will show us the way."

"His name is Devon?" Riza hardly noticed the boy's hand slide back into hers. He tugged her forward, insistent, muttering a string of unceasing nonsense. "The way where?"

Suyin laughed, beckoning with one hand. "_Shui_!"

-o-o-o-

"What do you propose we do about this, Mustang?" Miles growled. He was pacing the room now; the floor shuddered with each furious step.

"We have to speak to Shane directly. We cannot allow this to happen." Roy leaned over his desk on palms slick with sweat. Talk was their only option. He could not allow this to lead to bloodshed. "I'll go. Alone, if that's what it takes."

"And incite a conflict?" Miles said. "Are you _insane_? You _threatened_ Shane last time you met. He is not a man who easily forgets... or forgives."

Mustang shook his head. "I have to do _something_. This never would have happened if it weren't for me."

"You're absolutely right about that," Miles spat.

Scar snorted. "Miles, Shane was looking for an excuse to act. He has always been dangerous - volatile. He was likely planning this long before the general arrived here. There is little you could do or say to change that. He only trusts other Ishvalans."

"Volatile?" Miles sneered. "A pot calling a kettle black."

Mustang raised a hand to quiet both men. He turned toward the sound of Scar's voice. "Is there a way to reach him? He has to see what this could mean. I'm sure he'll see reason once he realizes what this could do to his people."

Scar was silent a moment. "There may be. There is one Ishvalan he respects. He may listen to her."

Miles let out an incredulous laugh. "You have to be kidding me. She would never -"

"It may work."

"She's too involved -!"

Mustang slammed a hand on his desk. They had to focus. "Who is she?"

Silence. Uncomfortable, reluctant silence.

"Well?" Mustang insisted.

"You already met her," Miles said slowly. "She's intimately involved in the rebuilding."

"Who, goddamnit?!"

"It's his grandmother," said Scar. "Counselor Caelyn."

-o-o-o-

The distant rumbling of the faraway string of vehicles was muted, swallowed by acres of sand. Despite the cloying heat, Ashika pulled her hood further over her head to shield her eyes. She could just make out the glitter of metal and heat-softened figures of camels. The water caravan. It bore the one thing both camps needed.

Even from this distance, Ashika could see how slowly they moved. Their journey had been long. The caravan travelled hundreds of miles on its journey to and through the Uisce Pass. Not for the first time, Ashika wondered at how nearly she missed this opportunity. She had been searching for her brother when she came across two Ishvalans in the ruins. It was clear their meeting was secret; an unfortunate mistake on their part and an opportunity on hers. What she learned was incredible: the water supply was tenuous, and would be more so if the supply did not arrive. They were vulnerable in their own need.

The rest of her time in the ruins was ultimately fruitless. Devon had disappeared. She could not find him, no matter how long she searched. Soon her dread transformed into despair. She bitterly regretted striking her brother. She drove him away. He was the only person in the world she cared for, and now he was gone. And now she realized the truth: he did not wish to be found. He could mask his _chi_, even from her.

Ashika frowned and tried to regain her focus. The water was the important thing now. Destroying it would be yet another blow to Mustang's dwindling confidence. She would ruin him, piece by piece, and he was powerless to stop her. But Ashika would do more than that. She would destroy him completely. She would obliterate everything he held dear until he _begged_ for his end. The caravan was just one piece to that puzzle, one necessary step towards Mustang's end.

_I have to destroy the water._

_Shui_. The voice was familiar, rich and warm like her mother's. Ashika shifted on the hot stone and shook her head to clear away memory that fell like cobwebs over her mind. Sometimes her master's voice returned at the most inconvenient times. _Shui_, Jiao whispered from someplace deep inside.

"No," Ashika cried. But was already swept from the present, borne away on the wings of memory.

"_Water," said Jiao, holding a full, cupped hand before her student. "You must learn to be like this."_

"_Why?" Agne sighed. "What good will that do?"_

_Jiao smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, deep lines well-worn with age and countless happy times. "What good? A lot for you." The water spilled from her hand and splashed to the sand at her feet. It sparkled as it fell, more brilliant than a handful of jewels. "You must learn how to flow. Malleable but strong."_

"_I _am_ strong," Agne bit. She survived in the desert for months. Years. She kept her brother safe all that time. Couldn't Jiao see that?_

"_Perhaps," the Xingese woman said. "But if you wish to manipulate chi, you must learn to flow. You must learn to surrender. You do not know how to be weak." She dipped her hand into the pail again. "Watch."_

"_I _have_ been watching," Agne said sourly. But she squinted as the water fell between her teacher's fingers. She saw nothing - nothing more than loss. "I just don't _understand_."_

_Jiao laughed. "Keep trying."_

Ashika dug her fingers into her palm until she felt blood well around the nails. It was a long time before she learned to sense chi, and even now it felt unnatural and wrong, like she was walking against a current instead of with it. When she left Xing she sought a different path. It was shockingly easy to find someone willing to teach her alchemy. In Amestris, alchemists were like sewer rats: abundant, pervasive, cheap. Ashika latched quickly onto what teachings she could scrounge, and she quickly found that she preferred the cold aloofness of science to the art of feeling that Jaio taught. Alchemy was about power. About manipulation and bending things to her will. It suited her.

But Ashika did not forget the things she learned in Xing. There were certain advantages to alkahestry. Today it would be of vital use, for it allowed her to act over a distance. Ashika scouted over the expanse of desert to where she stood earlier that day. She laid the arrays under the road hours ago, where the water trucks were sure to pass. Now she laid in wait for the moment to arrive. The caravan approached her trap with aching slowness, and Ashika was growing impatient. She pushed herself up to better watch the line approach her strikepoint. The trucks was nearly there now - not much more than two hundred feet.

Then it stopped.

Ashika cursed under her breath. They were so close! A stream of smoke billowed from the hood of the frontmost car, and Ashika watched in horror as men spilled from inside. She rushed to the edge of the cliff as her plans unraveled before her eyes.

-o-o-o-

"I don't like it," Riza whispered, pulling the boy closer to her side. Something about this place made her afraid to speak. There was a quietness about it, a hush she found difficult to dispel. Even her voice seemed too loud for sanctum-still that pervaded the empty plaza. The journey through the Ishvalan streets had been a long one, and it was nearing dark by the time the boy finally stopped in an empty alley, pointing at a dark crevice with one shaking finger. It was clear he wanted them to enter; the boy's eyes darted from Riza to the cave and back again. Hawkeye eyed the opening with a growing sense of foreboding. The boy tugged on her hand, staring up at her with an eager smile.

"It's safe," Suyin assured.

"How do you know?" Riza said. "How could you possibly know that?" The last time she entered such a dark place was on the Promised Day. She remembered how the walls seemed to close in on her, the overwhelming fear and her hot, panicked breaths as she searched for Roy through the tunnels below Central. The same feeling writhed in her belly now. She was alone here - alone but for two strangers.

Suyin merely smiled and shrugged. Without a moment's hesitation, she stepped into the darkness. Her red silk faded to black in a matter of seconds.

"Dammit," Riza growled. The boy tugged on her hand insistently. Every part of her screamed to stay away from the darkness, but she allowed the boy to pull her into the cave without a fight.

The entrance to the cave was blindingly dark after sun-bleached sand outside. Though it was nearing dark, Riza needed a moment to let her eyes adjust before she could see enough to walk further into the tunnel. The boy pulled her along by one hand, and she could dimly make out the curved figure of Suyin ahead.

They traveled in silence for a time. Riza carefully ran one hand over the cool stone wall at her left, the other still clasped firmly in Devon's. He moved confidently; this seemed to be a familiar road to him. Riza stared into the black, but there was not much to see aside from darkness upon darkness.

_So this is what it must be like for him_, she mused. _Alone in the dark. Blind._ Her heart ached. _Roy._

"Look ahead." Suyin's voice came from somewhere to her right. "Do you see?"

Riza squinted. In the distance, she could see the barest flicker - a hint of light. "Yes," she said. She felt Devon pull on her hand and mutter excitedly. It seemed he too saw the light.

"Come."

The flickers grew stronger as they approached, and soon Riza could see licking flames. They were unnatural - not the cheery red-gold of a candle or hearth. Rather, they were an angry purple-blue, sputtering from the end of braziers carved directly into the stone wall.

"Ever-burning torches," Riza murmured. Her father used a smaller version of these in his study, on the many nights he stayed up late to work on his equations. Back then, he called it 'fool's fire' - nothing more than an inelegant way to make light. Her father often said - bitingly - that he sought true flame, not cheap parlor trick favored by backwater alchemists.

With the path better lit, Riza could now see stairs that led beneath the streets of Ishval. The steps were perfectly smooth - carved from living stone - and when she kneeled down to inspect one, she saw square etchings. "Alchemy," she murmured, and Suyin nodded grimly.

They made their journey slowly, careful to make as little noise as possible. The stairs unfurled in a slow spiral, extending down to a place not visible from where they stood. After dozens - hundreds - of steps, the stairs ended at the head of a smooth, dimly-lit path that ended in a dark archway.

With a cry, Devon leapt forward. His hand slipped from Riza's before she could react, and soon he was running through the gloom, quickly ducking through the open door. Riza made to go after him, but Suyin's hand fell on her shoulder.

"Wait. Slowly."

Riza nodded, and by some unspoken agreement, the two women drew their weapons. Riza was briefly struck by the irony of the moment; how not long ago, she was unsure if she could trust this stranger. Now they stood shoulder to shoulder - there was no need for words. Together, she and Suyin inched along the wall toward the empty archway. For a time, Riza only heard Devon's distant, shrill shouts and the sound of her own breathing.

Then a new noise echoed from the darkness.

"Stop," Hawkeye whispered, placing one hand on Suyin's arm. "What was that?"

That sound again and Riza let out a slow breath. She knew what it was immediately, and cursed herself for not recognizing it earlier. She should have guessed how the boy managed to live this long in a land so harsh and unforgiving.

"_Shui_," Suyin said softly. "Water."

"Yes," Riza breathed. She listened to the sounds of distant splashes and the delighted cries of a boy insane with loneliness. "Water." She could not believe it.

They found one of the lost reservoirs.

-o-o-o-

Shane stood on a cliff overlooking the long expanse of desert, arms folded over his chest. A single road split the land in two halves, parallel to the distant horizon. From here he could see the water caravan. The trucks were not moving - stalled by what looked to be some sort of problem with the foremost truck.

"This is it," he said to Bevyn, who stood at his side. "Is everyone in position?"

"I think so." said Bevyn. Shane's cousin joined the effort early on - before the Amestrian army arrived. Like Shane, he wanted freedom for Ishval, though his resolve tended to crack under pressure. Like now. Bevyn looked sick, his face ghastly pale. His hand trembled when he pointed at a set of boulders down the hill. "We've got the first group in position there." His hand swung up, to a place near the horizon. "And the second there."

Shane nodded, studying the spots from the high point where they stood. The two groups were positioned several hundred feet from the road, staggered from one another by at least twice that. When signaled, his men would move to surround the caravan from the front and from behind, trapping them between two points like a set of pincers. Shane could just make out hints of movement from each hiding place: The Resistance members were restless, eager to strike.

Shane could feel his own excitement grow. He waited a long time for this day. _If only we had more time to prepare..._ Shane frowned and ruthlessly pushed away the doubt that whispered from a dark corner of his mind. He was admittedly inexperienced with strategy, but he was confident the plan would work. They had the element of surprise on their side, after all. Once the caravan was moving again, it would roll straight into their trap. The Amestrians would be helpless to stop them.

"You sure you want to go through with this?" asked Bevyn.

Shane glanced angrily at his cousin. Bevyn was a man prone to doubt, quick to uncertainty. He was dedicated to their cause, but he hesitated when things were unsure. It was a wonder Bevyn joined the Resistance in the first place. Shane was growing irritated with his cousin's lack of faith, but he knew Bevyn was not the only one. Others in their group feared what might happen should they failed. Some even questioned Shane's authority.

Shane turned to survey the small crowd of men and women that made the core of the Resistance. Even from here he could see flutters of uncertainty. His people clustered together in groups, muttering softly, casting dubious looks in Shane's direction. The air stank of fear. Many looked far too young to hold weapons, let alone wield them. Shane could not deny he was nervous as well. Too much rode on the outcome of this day. He pushed his doubt down and and threw a glance towards his cousin. "We have to act _now_. We couldn't ask for a better opportunity."

"It's just..." said Bevyn, eyeing the caravan. "If we don't succeed..."

Shane's head jerked. "You're losing faith _now_? _Now_, Bevyn?"

"I'm not losing faith!" Bevyn said, his young face twisting in anger. "It's just that there's so much to lose! If we had more time to plan -"

From the corner of his eye, Shane could see some of the other Resistance members shift. They clearly overheard the gist of the argument, and it would do little to sustain their waning confidence. Shane growled and dropped his voice. "Do you want freedom from those bastards or not?"

"Of course I do," Bevyn said. "It's just -"

"Shane!" someone cried from down the hill. "Come quick!" Alarmed whispers traveled through the crowd. Many drew their weapons while some pointed in the direction of the commotion.

"What is it now?" Shane clipped, stepping down the hill to push his fellow Ishvalans out of the way. "We can't afford a delay!"

"Mustang," one of the men murmured to his left. "He's here."

"_Mustang_?" Shane angrily thrust the remaining Resistance members aside to see a small group slowly make their way up the hill. Sure enough, Mustang approached them with the guidance of his cane, walking side by side with the Amestrian who passed himself off as an Ishvalan, Major Miles. Behind them strode two others - a tall, bulky man and a shorter woman wearing a hood that hid her face. Shane's cheeks flushed. "Scar, you traitor," he murmured.

A hush fell over the crowd as they approached, though fear and confusion rustled on its borders. For weeks, the man who called himself Scar had worked himself into their inner circles. Many here called him friend. It was a shock to see him in league with the general they so hated. Shane was livid, unable to look away from relentless back and forth swing of Mustang's cane. He knew why they came. Their purpose was clear: they wanted to stop him.

The small party walked forward without pause, their expressions grim. Resolute.

"What the hell are you doing here, Mustang?" Shane sneered.

The general stopped short at the sound of Shane's voice. His face was an emotionless mask. It looked as though all life had been drained from him - a startling change from when they last met. "Shane," Mustang said. There was little power behind the word. "We know what you're planning. And I'm here to ask you to reconsider."

"_Reconsider_?" Shane spat. "How _kind_. How _generous. _What - decided you didn't want to flash your gloves at me today, Mustang? Threats don't work so now you wish to _talk_?" He was pleased to hear a murmur of agreement from the crowd behind him. Mustang was a fool for coming here today.

The general bowed his head briefly, then looked up. Shane tried to ignore the earnestness in his sightless, grey eyes. Mustang sighed deeply through his nose. "There must be some way we can come to a peaceful agreement."

"I don't see how that's possible. I'm not willing to negotiate with you and those Ishvalan traitors."

"Shane..." said Miles.

"Didn't you _hear_ me? I don't wish to speak with you! We will not negotiate!" Shane made a signal at his side and a handful of men brought their firearms to their shoulders. "Leave," Shane hissed dangerously.

Mustang frowned and cocked his head, listening to the sound of angry murmurs mixed with gunmetal clicks. He seemed to consider something a moment before he cast his cane aside, walking forward with hands open: A plea for peace. "Shane..." he said.

"Go back!"

"We didn't come here to fight..."

Shane growled and looked to one of his men, still standing with gun raised. "Shoot," he said.

The Ishvalan's eyes widened briefly before a look of grim determination stole over his face. He nodded to Shane and aimed his gun at the approaching general.

"Please," Mustang said.

The gunblast was startling, even to Shane. There was the tiny zing of a bullet. An instant later, a puff of dust burst from the sand at Mustang's feet. The general hardly flinched, continuing on his path as though nothing happened. Shane threw an angry look that the Ishvalan he signaled to shoot. The young man shook his head and avoided Shane's eyes.

"Mustang! I said go!" Shane yelled. He signaled again. Another gunshot, this time grazing the arm of Mustang's uniform. And still the general strode forward, unheeding. Shane's fury boiled and he snatched the gun from the now-trembling Ishvalan, who could not do what would surely start a war. Soon the sights rested on Mustang's heart.

"Stop this, Shane!"

A murmur traveled through the crowd as the hooded Ishvalan stepped away from Scar, positioning herself in front of the general. The hood fell away from her head, revealing in a face softened with age and edged with wrinkles.

Shane swallowed thickly. His hands shook. "What... what are you doing here? _Move_!"

Caelyn mouth tightened into a line that said 'disappointment.' She did not move from her silent blockade.

Shane fought the urge to scream. "What is she doing here? Do you plan to hide behind an old woman?" Something clutched at his throat and he struggled to speak. "How _dare_ you use her as your shield?"

The general's face twisted in anger. He opened his mouth, but stopped when Caelyn placed a hand on his arm.

"Shane," the Counselor said calmly. "I am glad Mustang sought my help in this matter. I know what happened, and I understand your anger. But what you plan could ruin everything."

"Shut up!" Shane shouted. The gun dipped in his shaking hands. "You don't understand! You have never understood! You only want to bow to them like everyone else!"

Caelyn shook her head. "You know that isn't true. I only want what's best for our people."

"Shane," Mustang said, stepping to Caelyn's side. "I know I made a mistake. I'm trying to stop you from doing the same. Please. Think about what you're doing. Think about how this could affect your people - _all_ of your people - if this leads to war."

Shane growled and turned away. He closed his eyes so he would not have to look on the faces of his men, so afraid and full of dwindling hope. He felt so unsure - so conflicted. He groaned softly, unwittingly glancing up at the others. In the crowd, Bevyn stood out amongst the rest. His burgundy eyes seemed to ask something - an unbearable question that had no answer: _What do you truly want?_ Shane knew if he turned around, he would see the same question in his grandmother's eyes.

"There has been too much bloodshed already," Scar said. "Our people are tired of fighting. You have to see that."

The murmurs that traveled through the crowd grew uncertain, and Shane's stomach sunk. He was losing them.

"Please," Mustang said. "Just... listen."

"I -" Shane began. He clutched the gun in both hands and made to turn around, but stopped short when someone tugged on his sleeve.

"Shane!"

"_What_?" he snapped. He glanced down to see one of the younger members of the group, a boy who had been assigned to scout the northern perimeter earlier that morning.

The kid swallowed thickly. His eyes darted from Shane to Mustang, still several paces away. "Th -there's something happening down there by the water caravan," he said softly. "Someone else is coming. Amestrian military cars."

-o-o-o-

It was nearing sunset by the time the twin glimmer of the faraway camps came into view. Even from this distance, Havoc could see the difference between the two: the Ishvalan camp like sand-on-sand, identifiable only by the unnatural, square shapes of their squat buildings and the dotted glow of campfires. The Amestrian camp was more obvious: a gash of color on an otherwise bland landscape, lights blazing electric blue.

Lulled by the ceaseless rocking of the car wheels, Rebecca had fallen asleep long ago. Her head rested comfortably on Havoc's shoulder, her breath deep, rushing through the curls in her bushy hair. Havoc did not have the courage to wake her, mostly because he knew it would be accompanied by an embarrassed tirade and an inevitable poke in an already-sore shoulder. Besides, the desert grew colder by the minute as night fell, and her warmth against his side was not unwelcome (though he suspected she might claim otherwise).

"Look!" the lieutenant called from the front seat. "See that?"

Havoc's gaze followed the line of the younger man's finger. Something squat rumbled along the desert, a line of vehicles he did not notice at first in the waning light. "What _is _that?"

"The water caravan," Rebecca murmured sleepily from his side. "We caught up to it." She pushed away from him to lean over the front seat, blinking blearily at the nearing vehicles. "They're not moving."

"Stuck, maybe?" Havoc said, peering over the sergeant in front of him. "Think they need help?"

"Regardless," said Sergeant Renault. "We'll be passing right by them."

A tight anticipation pervaded the car interior as they approached. It soon became clear the lead vehicle was the one in trouble - smoke spilled from under its open front hood and a group of men stood around it, waving the fumes from their faces. The rest of the caravan had taken the opportunity to rest: the camel riders stood in the waning shade. Drivers stepped out of the vehicles, stiff and ready to stretch their legs. A handful of uniformed guards stood in a circle smoking. A number of them waved as they saw the line of military vehicles approach; the Amestrian sigil was an unexpected and welcome sight.

Havoc signaled their driver to pull alongside the broken vehicle. He waggled his eyebrows at Rebecca. "Shall we?"

She let out a barking laugh and poked his shoulder. "Just get out, idiot."

He smiled at her and thrust the door open with a relieved sigh. The opportunity to walk would be more than welcome, even with the air rapidly cooling as it was. A group of men clustered around the smoking truck. When they caught sight of Havoc, one broke off from the rest of the group. He was covered in days' worth of sand; his blue eyes stood out like sapphires. He shook Havoc's hand warmly, teeth flashing bright against his tanned skin.

"Jager," said the man. "The name's Jager. I'm the lead driver here."

"Lieutenant Havoc."

"Nice ta meetcha," Jager said. "Thanks for stoppin'."

"Well," Havoc said. He eyed the smoke that rose in billowing clouds towards a twilight sky. "What seems to be the problem?"

-o-o-o-

The light was dimming rapidly, but Ashika recognized the Amestrian military vehicles as they approached the caravan. And the sunlight was not so paltry that she did not see a familiar blond step from inside the frontmost car. She nearly gasped. Lieutenant Havoc. She thought she was rid of him... Mustang left him behind in Central _weeks_ ago. What was he doing here?

The caravan had not moved any closer to the alkahestric traps she set earlier that day. She knew she could simply bide her time - wait for them to repair the truck and move on. But a rising sense of urgency threatened to overwhelm her. She felt impatient; she needed to act _now_. The so-called Ishvalan Resistance group could swoop in at any moment and destroy everything. Ashika had a Philosopher's stone at her disposal, and - dwindling though it was - it would provide the power she needed to accomplish her goals. Her eyes flashed to Havoc, tall and jovial, at the center of a crowd of men.

New plans unfurled in her mind. It was strange how just when she was beginning to despair, a new opportunity played into her hands. Now another pawn arrived, ripe for the picking. But unlike the cadet, this one was not for play.

-o-o-o-

"It's the radiator," Jager said. He seemed relieved that Havoc and the others stopped to help, but frustration worried at his brow. "Been causin' us problems the entire trip. S'why it took us so damn long to get here." The driver squinted towards the two camps in the distance and scuffed one boot in the dirt. "We were so close..."

Rebecca appeared at Havoc's side. "You're in luck. I'm pretty sure one of the civilians we brought with us has a flair for the mechanical. Automail, mind you, but he should be able to help."

"I'd appreciate it," Jager said. He looked embarrassed, twisting his cap between two calloused hands. "We'd like to get these supplies to them folks in the camps. We're long overdue."

"Sure thing," Havoc said, turning towards the bus parked nearly a hundred feet down the line of trucks. "I think we can -" He stopped short as a line of red light forked through the sand.

Then everything exploded.

Sand erupted from the earth beneath Havoc's feet. He shouted in alarm as he lost balance, unplanted from the ground and thrown into the air like a doll. He heard Catalina scream from someplace behind him before her voice was swallowed by a mountain of grit. Havoc struggled to breathe. Sand fell over him in a giant, crushing wave, filling his mouth and nose. He frantically flailed to keep from being buried alive.

Another explosion, this time to his left. With it came a resounding clang and the whine of metal. Then a sound that made Havoc's heart stop.

_The water. The water! _It crashed to the sand in a single wave, a colossal loss that would cost them everything. It was not long before his hands were covered in an inch of wet.

"No!" he screamed, struggling to find his feet on the sodden sand. The earth drank the water greedily and within seconds, only puddles remained. Havoc only had a moment to recover before the second water truck exploded, flooding the ground anew.

"Havoc!" Rebecca called from his right. He glanced over to see the lieutenant waist deep, slogging through heavy, wetted sand.

"Stay there!" he shouted, throwing out one shaking hand. "Stay there! Can you reach your gun?"

Catalina nodded, wide-eyed but focused. She knew as well as he did: whoever attacked them was likely near, and could be on them in a matter of seconds. Her hand disappeared under the mud and came out a moment later with an earth-encrusted pistol.

"Cover me!" Havoc yelled, not bothering to wait for Rebecca's confirmatory nod before he stumbled through clouds of rising dust and puddles of mud. He had to take control - to gather the others and face whatever threatened to destroy the water supply. The cadets would be panicked, in disarray. He could not see more than a few feet in front of his face, but he could hear voices: shouts, the discharge of guns, screams of pain. Havoc fought to keep the rising panic at bay. "Panzer! Renault!" He called, coughing. His holster was empty. Where was his gun? "Sergeant Renault!" He managed to make his way to the place where he first fell, slogging through the mud on hands and feet in search of his weapon.

His gun lay covered in murky water, only parts of the grip visible above the surface. Relief flooded him, and he reached for it without a moment's hesitation. But before his fingers could so much as brush the metal, a sandled foot dropped down on the weapon. Havoc gasped and backed away. Light flashed red and another water tank exploded. Havoc nearly tripped as a fresh wave of ankle-deep water flooded the ground at his feet. His eyes drifted up to the robed figure that stood before him.

Red eyes. It was the only thing he saw before a flash of ruby light traveled through the stranger's body and into the sand at their feet. The earth exploded anew and grit spattered Havoc's face, his cry of alarm abruptly choked off as sand flew down his throat. Something stuck him on the chest and he soon found himself on his back, all breath forced from his lungs. He looked up to see a solid wave of sand fold over him like a blanket, covering him below his shoulders. He struggled, whipping his head back and forth, but he could not move. He might as well have been fighting a stone wall rather than half a foot of sand.

"Havoc!" Rebecca shouted from somewhere he could not see. There was a single gunshot, followed by another flash of light and a garbled cry. Catalina went silent.

"Rebecca!" Havoc struggled to move, but the sand weighed on him like a thousand bricks, his gun lost beneath a mountain of sand. A cloaked figure appeared over the rim of his earthen prison.

"Hello, Lieutenant Havoc," the stranger purred in a young girl's voice. She stepped toward him without fear, and as she approached he could just make out a thin chin covered in a web of scars. Blood dripped quietly from the fingers of her hand. "Fancy meeting you here."

-o-o-o-

**A/N: It all comes to a head. Only action and angst from here on out, folks. Should be funtimes.**

**Thanks to the venerable mebh for her support (and for graciously enduring my constant whining over this fic, despite having better things to do). And to Disastergirl: Not only is she a fantastic beta, but she also recently started a very exciting multi-chap, **_**Phoenix**_**. Do check it out!**

**I cannot tell you how difficult writing this story has become and how much time I spend agonizing over these chapters. Please, please review!**

**Next Chapter****: Cry**


	17. Cry

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 17****: Cry ( / krī / )**

**1. **_**noun**_** - a loud utterance of emotion, such as fear, anger, or despair**

**2. **_**verb**_** - to demand or require immediate action**

**3. **_**noun**_** - a rallying call or signal**

**4. **_**noun**_** - an urgent treaty or appeal**

**5. **_**verb**_** - to shed tears because of grief, sorrow, or pain**

-o-o-o-

Mustang did not need to see it. He could _sense_ the tension, thick enough to cut. Shane was furious. But more than that, Roy could feel an uneasy undercurrent in the crowd of Ishvalans. He could hear it in the rustling of their clothes and the shift of weapons from one hand to the other. He could smell it in the tang of sweat that hung heavy in the air. He could taste their fear.

They were not the only ones. Roy's heart fluttered in his chest, beating in an irregular cadence against his ribcage. Behind him he could hear Miles shift from foot to foot and Scar's uneasy breathing. Only Caelyn among them remained still.

"Miles," Mustang said softly. "Why did Shane stop speaking?"

"Not sure," Miles said. "One of his men just came to the front of the crowd and got his attention. It looks like something urgent."

Scar's voice came from just over Roy's shoulder. "I remember him. I think he is one of their scouts."

"His name is Danel," said Caelyn, sadly. "He's just a boy."

"Whoever he is," Miles said. "He has news - and Shane's full attention."

A murmur drifted through the crowd, voices so hushed it was impossible to discern one word from another, though it was clear the Ishvalans grew more spooked by the minute. Mustang leaned forward, straining his ears. "I can't say I'm not relieved," he murmured so only his companions could hear. "We needed a distraction. I don't think things were going all that well with... negotiations."

"You did your best," said Caelyn. "Shane has always been a stubborn young man."

There was a sharp intake of breath to Mustang's left. Miles gripped his arm, fingers tight enough to cause pain. "General, Shane's leaving! He's walking away! Do something!"

Something heavy dropped in Mustang's stomach. He could not allow the Ishvalan to extricate himself from the situation. Things were too tenuous. They needed to meet some sort of common ground before it was too late. "Shane!" Mustang called.

The crowd hushed, leaving only the sound of wind in its wake. The tension grew in the ensuing lull, swelling to fill the space between the two groups. After a long silence, Shane's voice carried over the sand, its tone low and threatening. "It is not your business, Mustang. We're protecting what's ours by right."

"What's yours?" shouted Miles. "You can't mean - hey!" His grip tightened on Roy's arm and his voice came harsh in the general's ear. "He's leaving!"

"I do not like this," murmured Caelyn.

"We'll follow," Mustang muttered grimly, tugging his arm to urge the Major forward. "We have to." Not for the first time, he wished he was in more familiar company. He wished he had Breda or Havoc or Hawkeye at his side. But they were gone now - for reasons that where his fault and his alone. He could never face them again if he failed today. Mustang hesitated for a moment, considering his next words. "Miles... please... tell me what you see."

The Major took a deep breath. "Shane is looking over the ridge, towards the main road. The other Ishvalans are clustered around him and -" Miles stopped short. "What was - ?"

Something exploded in the distance. Horrified shouts rose from the crowd of Ishvalans, and Roy soon felt the weight of both Scar and Miles' hands on his arms, their voices lost in the din of pounding footsteps over sand and rock, of shuffling feet and panicked cries. Mustang stumbled as bodies fell into him, buffeting him from either side. The Ishvalans were struggling to get away from the explosion that came from the faraway road just beyond the hill. They seemed to be clawing at one another, desperate to escape. In moments, Scar and Miles were torn away from Mustang's shoulders, carried away by the inexorable weight of the crowd.

"Look out!"

"Ishvala take us -"

"Get back here, you cowards!"

"The tank!"

"What's happening?"

"God, the water! It's - !"

"Who? Who is it? Can you see?"

"I saw light! It's alchemy!"

Roy felt a hand fall heavily on his shoulder. Soon he was being pulled backward, away from the sounds of explosions and rising screams. "Let go!" he shouted, twisting in a vain attempt to escape. "Let me go!" The hands pulled him down, forcing him into a crouch. Mustang tried to rise but stopped when he heard Major Miles' voice in his ear again.

"Sir!" Miles was panting; his hand shook forcefully on Roy's shoulder. "It's me!"

"What's going on, Major? What happened?"

"The water tanks! They're being destroyed!"

Mustang fought to stand again, but Miles' hand tightened. "Major," Roy growled. "Let me up!" Another explosion. The shouts around them rose, along with the sound of milling bodies in disarray. "I need to help -"

"Sir, it's dangerous!"

Mustang shook his head; his safety mattered little now. "Where is Shane? We need to take control of this situation immediately. His people will only listen to him."

Miles went silent for a moment, and Roy imagined him scanning the crowd through his dark lenses. "There. At the top of the hill."

"Take me to him."

For once, Miles did not hesitate to carry out the general's command. He shifted his grip to just under Mustang's elbow and helped him up to stand. "This way."

It was a struggle to reach Shane. The Resistance members were confused and frightened, scattered about with no direction. Some seemed furious, ready to charge into the valley, to retaliate. Others were taken by fear, unable to move or even act. Still others had fled the scene entirely, revealing themselves as the cowards they were. Miles led the general through the crowd, forced to take an irregular path, ducking and weaving between the chaos. When the two soldiers reached what seemed to be the crest of the hill, Mustang called to Shane again. The tall Ishvalan did not reply at first, instead issuing desperate orders to whoever would listen.

Roy tried again - louder this time. "Shane!"

The tall Ishvalan growled and turned towards the sound of his name. "Mustang!" he growled. It seemed the general finally had his attention. "This is _your_ doing!"

"Are you insane?" Miles cried. "Those are _our_ men down there! If there's anyone who's suspect, it's you! You and and your Resistance rabble!"

"Miles," Mustang cautioned. Now was not the time to argue. They had to move quickly.

"We - we didn't do it!" Shane stuttered, suddenly seeming to how badly things looked for him. His men were positioned around the water tank, poised to attack long before Mustang arrived. The Ishvalan swallowed audibly. His voice lost all force. "I... I didn't give the signal. My people would never -"

"You're so sure?" Miles sneered. "You're so sure one of them didn't decide to pull the trigger a bit early? You seem to think they're soldiers, but they're not. I see what they truly are now. Your so-called Resistance is nothing but a band of children, carrying weapons they don't even know how to use." Miles waved a hand at the panicked crowd. "Look at them!"

"Don't you _dare_ presume to know the first thing -"

"Enough! Both of you!" Mustang shouted. "This is not helping." He turned toward the sound of Shane's voice. "I'm going down there," he said firmly. "Those are my men; I have to help them." He paused for the span of one shuddering breath. "I don't believe this is an act from either of our parties. The water was too precious. It isn't something an Amestrian or an Ishvalan would waste. We can only draw one conclusion: Someone is trying to sabotage us. They want to undo all we've struggled so hard to accomplish. Surely you can see that, Shane"

If the Ishvalan replied, it was lost in the din of the crowd.

"We don't have much time," Mustang pressed. "I plan to act. What will you do?"

"I..." Shane began, his voice dark and reluctant. "I... want to find the bastard who did this."

Mustang nodded. "As do I. Gather your men," he said. "We're going down there."

-o-o-o-

The scene in the valley below was one of chaos: men and women littered a field of wet sand strewn with shrapnel. Most seemed merely stunned, but even from a distance Miles could see those that were clearly injured. Some dragged broken limbs; many clutched wounds. One form was alarmingly still. Miles fought a rising sense of despair as he led the general down the crest of the hill toward the road.

"You're quiet," Mustang observed. "It's... bad, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I hear shouting. Who is that?"

Miles squinted at the place where the first water tank once stood. "I think it might be one of the officers, General. Looks like she's trying to take control of the situation."

"Take me there. Quickly."

Miles lead Mustang around the worst of the drifts. The ground here was unstable, covered in a layer of loose sand. He was initially concerned the general would fall, but the other soldier's steps were sure and confident - that of a seeing man. Mustang's slate grey eyes scanned the horizon, attempting to drink in the scene. Miles struggled to keep his own gaze forward; Shane and what little of the Resistance they could gather followed closely behind. The major did not like to leave his back vulnerable to such an unpredictable man, but they had little choice. They needed whatever reinforcements they could get. Miles did have some reassurance, however: Caelyn and Scar walked to either side of the Ishvalan Resistance leader. The two appeared calm despite the situation.

It took them some time to make their way across the smooth expanse of desert that made the base of the valley. The road before them cut the horizon into two parallel bars - perfect yellow mared by jagged bits of black. By the time the party drew near, the attacks were long over, and the Amestrian soldiers had organized into a concentrated group at the center of the explosion site. As they approached, a woman's voice rang out from crowd.

"All medics and soldiers ranked private and below are to go to the field to gather the injured!" There was a forcefulness to her tone, and men immediately moved to carry out her orders. "Any civilians with medical training are to accompany them. I want all soldiers ranked sergeant to gather the civilians and get them back in the remaining buses. Lieutenants, to me. We need to organize an immediate search - "

Mustang cocked his head as they drew nearer the organizing crowd. "I know that voice," he murmured. "It's Catalina."

Sure enough, Miles could see a woman with bushy hair just over the crowd. He did not know Lieutenant Catalina well, but he recognized her as one of Grumman's personal contingent. Rebecca stood atop a rubber tire, directing the crowd with an outstretched hand as she shouted orders loud enough for all to hear. Rivulets of blood covered one side of her face from temple to chin, but her expression was resolute, her lips in a determined line. She hardly seemed to notice the approaching group until they were several dozen yards away, and her eyes widened - surprised - when she saw Mustang and the crowd of Ishvalans.

"General!" she shouted. "Thank God!" Catalina sprang down from the tire and jogged to the approaching party. "What the hell are you doing here, sir?"

Mustang frowned. "I should ask the same."

"I was assigned here," Rebecca said. "Listen, sir -" she began, but stopped short when Shane thrust himself to the front of the crowd.

"What happened here?" he shouted. "Who attacked you? I demand to know!"

Catalina quirked an eyebrow at Mustang and thrust her thumb in Shane's direction. "Who's _this_ chump?"

Shane's expression transformed from agitated to one of pure, unbridled hatred. The Ishvalans behind him stirred, muttering amongst themselves. Scar appeared uncomfortable, while Caelyn hid an amused smile. Miles eyed Shane with some trepidation, worried the young man might be spurred into doing something rash, but the Resistance leader seemed too offended for words.

To his credit, Mustang managed to maintain his composure, though his voice seemed almost painstakingly even when he next spoke. "This is Shane, Lieutenant, the leader of the Ishvalan Resistance. Like me, he's here to help." The general ignored the affronted sound Shane made from somewhere deep in his throat. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Catalina shook her head. "Honestly, General, I can't rightly say. Havoc could probably tell you better than I could. He was in the thick of it. And now he's gone missing -"

"..._Havoc_?" Mustang said. "What the hell is Havoc doing here..?

The lieutenant's brows furrowed. "Riza - er, Captain Hawkeye sent for him, sir." She paused, confused. "I assumed you -"

"No," the general said slowly. "I didn't." His face darkened and his lips thinned into a thoughtful line. "Where is he? Havoc?"

Catalina's face fell. "Like I said sir, he was in the thick of it. There was sand everywhere after the attack, visibility was low. I had him in my sights, but..." her hand drifted up to the nasty gash on her forehead. "She took me out. Havoc was gone by the time I woke up. No one knows where he went." She shrugged uncomfortably, as though struggling with how much it bothered her. "I already sent a few men to search for him -"

Miles stopped her with an upraised hand. "You said_ she_?"

Rebecca nodded. "The one who attacked us."

Mustang's fist clenched at his side. "Who was it, lieutenant? Did you get a good look at her?"

The lieutenant's frown deepened. "She was wearing a hood. Smallish girl - not much higher than my shoulder at best. I only got a short look at her face. I think it was messed up somehow - deformed or something." She paused and took a long breath, glancing up at the crowd of Ishvalans. "And red eyes."

"Lies!" Shane shrieked. "One of my people would never do something like this!"

Mustang lifted a placating hand. "There's nothing to say this woman was part of the Resistance or even a member of the Ishvalan camp."

"It wasn't one of my men," Shane said hotly. "It would never happen. They would never be so foolish. I'd trust every one of them with my life."

Mustang considered the Ishvalan for a moment, his blank eyes fathomless. "...I believe you, Shane. Let's hear what Catalina has to say."

Rebecca shook her head. "There's not much more _to_ say, sir, except -" She glanced at Resistance leader again before her eyes swept back to the General. "I have good reason to believe she was using alchemy."

Murmurs spread through the tightly packed group. Several of the Amestrian soldiers nodded, affirming Catalina's story. The Ishvalans grew more uneasy, leaning in close to one another to whisper in each other's ears.

"One who has abandoned the teachings," Caelyn said sadly. "Ishvala have mercy on her." The elderly woman seemed to be avoiding Scar's eyes, who frowned and dropped his chin to stare at the sand beneath his feet. He squeezed his hands into tight fists and the tattoos shifted over the corded muscles of his arms. It was clear he was reminded of their presence - perhaps even ashamed of them. Apparently his use of alchemy was still a point of contention, a source of mistrust.

"What makes you think alchemy was involved?" Mustang asked.

Catalina crossed her arms. "Before the explosion, there was a flash of light, kinda like electricity. I've seen the like before... from you and the other State Alchemists."

"It wasn't just alchemy."

Miles and the others looked up at the gruff voice that came from just outside the crowd. Soldiers parted to either side, allowing a man to make his way through the throng of people. Grey touched his temples and wrinkles cracked the skin around his eyes. He moved like one much older - slow and purposeful, as a man twice his age. Most striking, his face was marred with a cobweb of scars, unrecognizable to all but a small few in the crowd.

"Marcoh!" Miles whispered. He heard the general echo the name beside him. It seemed the general, too, was surprised to find the doctor here.

The Crystal Alchemist sighed, wiping bloodstained hands on a cloth from the back pocket of his trousers. It was clear he had been tending to the wounded; his shirtsleeves half gone: stripped away to make makeshift bandages. "It wasn't just alchemy," he repeated. He eyed the surrounding crowd uneasily before tipping his chin toward the general. "I need to speak with you, Mustang. Alone."

A murmur traveled through the crowd of soldiers and Ishvalans. People began to shift uneasily. Miles could see renewed fear on their faces, the way their hands traveled nervously to their weapons.

Mustang nodded curtly. "Let's make it quick."

Shane stepped forward. "I'm coming, too."

They found a relatively secluded spot behind the remaining side of the second water tank. Mustang and Marcoh bowed their heads close, Shane thrusting his shoulder against Miles' to listen in. Caelyn and Scar completed the circle.

"Marcoh," Mustang breathed. "What the hell are you _doing_ here?"

The doctor grunted. "I was going to ask you the same. What _am_ I doing here? Lieutenant Havoc recruited me. I assumed you were the one behind it, Mustang. Havoc told me I was needed to help with the reconstruction here. He said my... skills would be of use." Marcoh scratched the back of his neck. "The young man was rather insistent."

"I didn't send for you," Mustang said, almost to himself. "It was Hawkeye. She must have done it... She must have called after I -" He sighed fretfully through his nose. "She knew we would need more help. She knew..." A pause. "I wonder how she managed..." his voice trailed and his eyes took on a faraway look. For a moment, he seemed to be lost - transported away by some strange waking dream. But an instant later he shook his head, clearing it. "No matter. You're here now, Marcoh. What was it you needed to speak to us about?"

"It was the attack," Marcoh said. "I saw it. The lieutenant was right - the girl did use alchemy. But the explosion was too powerful to be from alchemic skill alone." The doctor swallowed. "She had a Philosopher's stone. I'm certain of it."

Caelyn let out a small, distressed cry and swayed on her feet. Shane looked likewise affected, and in a surprising act of affection, stepped over to his grandmother's side to place a hand on her shoulder. The elderly woman looked at Shane meaningfully, sharing a look that spoke of a bond much deeper than the two let on.

"My God," the general whispered. "My God, Marcoh… You think -?"

"Yes. I have no doubt it's the one that was stolen," Marcoh said. "It carried the same signature."

"We have to find her," Mustang said. "We have to, Marcoh. There's no telling what she could do with that thing."

"Or what she intends," Caeyln supplied, sweeping her hand to indicate the destruction around her. "She destroyed the water supply for _both_ our camps. Whatever her goal, she means to do harm. Our first goal is to prevent that from happening. We must take measures to protect _everyone_." She emphasized the last word, reaching up to place her hand over her grandson's.

"You're right," Mustang said. "We have to protect the civilians. But we need to do more than that. We have to catch this girl before she has a chance to hurt someone." He turned to Shane. "Your men know this terrain, correct?" He did not wait for an answer. "Send some of them to search the area. I'll dispatch a squadron of my soldiers in trucks to see if we can head her off. It's likely she escaped to the South, in the direction of the base." He turned to Miles. "Find Falman. Have him post guards around both of our camps. Take Marcoh with you. If this attacker truly has a Philosopher's stone, perhaps he can help - "

"Wait a minute, Mustang!" Shane said. "Who do you think you are? You're insane if you think I'm taking orders from _you_."

"Shane," Caelyn reproached. "This is bigger than you or your vendetta. Our people -"

"No!" the young man cried. "Don't you see? This is just him trying to take control -"

Caelyn made a motion over her heart, her face stern, and the younger Ishvalan paled. "They're right, grandson. This isn't just about them." She sighed. "Don't you see? She attacked us, too. She destroyed the water. She destroyed hope. Think of your mother and sister. They are still in the camp. How would you feel if they were hurt because you did not act when you had the chance?"

Shane's lip trembled and he looked away. Miles could see the beginnings of frustrated tears misting the young man's eyes.

"Please," Mustang said. "We need to work together. Trust us, Shane - at least for now." An ironic smile quirked at the edge of the general's lips. "After this is over you can go back to hating me. I promise."

-o-o-o-

"Water," Riza breathed. "I can't believe it."

Suyin's mouth curled into a smile. "Did you not notice when we entered the cave?"

"No," Riza said. "I can smell it now, but not until I heard the sound of splashing..." She breathed deeply, reveling in the feel of moisture in her throat. She did not realize she missed it, having lived in Ishval for several weeks now. "You smelled it all the way up there?"

The Xingese woman shook her head. "No. I _felt_ it. And I knew because of the child." Suyin beckoned with one hand. "Come. Let us see it." She turned and walked through the darkened doorway without another word.

Hawkeye frowned at her companion's retreating back for a moment before following a few paces behind. She was still unsure if she trusted Suyin or her uncanny ability to sense the word around her. It seemed almost… magical, something her father taught her to distrust since she was a child. The idea of sensing things or - indeed - delving into the mind of others seemed unfathomable to her. But Suyin proved herself to be an ally; Riza had no reason not to take her word.

The doorway led to a short corridor before it emptied into a gigantic cavern. Riza nearly gasped at the immensity of it. Ever-burning torches illuminated a smooth place to her right, where she saw a set of sleeping pallets, a table covered with scrolls and texts, and an empty fire pit, dishes stacked neatly nearby. But the paltry light did not so much as touch the beginnings of the space. Much of the cavern remained dark, and Riza could only guess at its extent. From where she stood, Riza could just make out stalactites hanging from the ceiling like daggers. And there, in the dimly reflected glow of the torches, she saw -

"The reservoir," she whispered.

"Yes," said Suyin, who for once seemed just as affected, her voice soft and reverent.

From where Hawkeye stood it seemed endless. Water of the deepest black disappeared into the distance, far past the point where she could see. But Riza could feel the immensity of it, and for a moment she could only stare, awed by the sheer volume of water before her.

The sound of splashing drew her from her reverie. She looked to the water's edge, where she found Devon, standing knee deep and cloaked in shadow. Water dripped from his hands and tangled hair; it sparkled like tiny jewels of light, made only brighter by the overriding black that framed the scene. Though the darkness Riza could see a flash: Devon's teeth, white and luminescent as shells. The boy let out a barking laugh and leaned down to run his fingers through the water.

"Do you think it is pure?" Suyin asked softly.

"There's only one way to find out." Riza said as she walked to the water's edge. It lapped gently - moved by currents from some underground stream, she imagined. Water was a perfect obsidian, the purplish light from the torches only reflecting tiny ripples in its surface. Taking a deep breath, Riza stepped into the water until she was covered to her ankles. It was startlingly cold, a welcome sensation after a day walking the hot desert sands. Riza found a space where the water was clear enough to see the bottom and untied her canteen from her belt - now long empty. She carefully eased the mouth under the water. When it was half-full, she lifted it in one hand. "Here goes," she said, bringing the tin to her lips.

She had tasted water like this before. When she was young, on days her father went away to town, she and Roy would hike to a set of woods several miles north of their home. There was a little spring near the foot of a rounded hill at the halfway point of the journey, and they would always stop for a rest and a drink. There was a wildness, a _freedom_ to the water that made it sweeter than honey. She had many fond memories by that stream.

This water tasted the same, pure and clear and life-giving. Riza brought the canteen below the surface again, filling it completely this time. When she straightened, she scanned the reservoir to where it disappeared in the distance, far outside the reach of the torches. There were thousands of gallons at least, likely more. Enough to last a lifetime.

"It's everything we need," she murmured. "No wonder the boy was able to survive here for so long."

At her side, Devon let out a joyous shriek, bringing cupped hands to his lips.

"Yes," Suyin said. "But even so I doubt he did it alone."

Riza nodded. She suspected the same. The pair of sleeping mats beside the fire pit was evidence enough of that - as were the alchemically-made stairs. There was more to this place than Riza initially suspected. They needed to know who - or rather, _what_ - they were dealing with. "Let's take a look."

The campsite was neat - more so than the insane little boy was capable. A perfect ring of stone surrounded the fire pit and on closer inspection Riza saw it was alchemically made - carved from living rock. The sleeping mats themselves were austere but comfortable. Ashes from a recent fire were swept neatly into a nearby pit and the cooking pots were clean and shining. Someone else lived here. Someone right of mind.

"Captain! Over here!"

Drawn by the urgency in the other woman's voice, Riza turned to the low stone table - another obvious construction of alchemy. Suyin held a sheet of paper in either hand; each one fluttered in the flickering torchlight. It took a moment for Riza to realize the woman was shaking, her eyes wide and afraid.

"Come quickly," Suyin said.

"What is it?" As Hawkeye approached, she scanned the papers and books that littered the table. Most were covered in text, but between the words she could just make out circular sketches... "Arrays," Riza said. She already expected something of the sort. There was evidence of alchemy everywhere in the cavern. Why, then, was Suyin suddenly so worried?

Riza stepped beside the other woman, surveying the papers layered one on top of the other. Many were covered in alchemic equations or half-constructed arrays. Riza vaguely recognized a few symbols: vitriol, sulfur and aqua fortis - compounds commonly used in destruction alchemy. But half of the papers were written in a hand she did not know: a strange, slanted text of straight lines and boxes. She'd seen the like before scrawled on Xingese goods.

"Alkahestry?" she asked, looking to her companion.

Suyin nodded curtly. "A dark brand of it."

"What does it do?"

Suyin shook her head, lips pressed in a thin line. "It is forbidden."

Riza picked up a sheet and peered at it closely. Next to the Xingese text were a few anatomical sketches of animals, some of which were clearly dead. "What do you mean... forbidden?

Suyin avoided Hawkeye's eyes. "Some things are secret for a reason." She set the papers down on the table hastily, as though the mere touch of it burned her skin. "We must leave this place."

"Just a moment," Riza said. She plucked a handful of sheets from the top of a nearby pile. The ink on them seemed new, the markings fresh and sharp as though they had dried only hours ago. She glanced over the images, many of which were alchemic arrays. Most had been crossed out; angry marks marred the sheet in several places, as though the author slashed them in a fit of rage. Riza was about to replace the sheet when something caught her eye.

"It can't be," she whispered, pulling the sheet close to study it more carefully.

"What is it?" Suyin said from just over her shoulder.

Riza felt faint. The markings were difficult to make out, covered in thick, angry slashes. But the image beneath was something she recognized - more familiar than the memory of her father's face. "It's... a salamander," she said, pointing at what was clearly a tail and a clawed foot. "Right here. And look... here... that edge..." She paused as more details became apparent the more carefully she looked. "And these are scales, here."

"That is... Mustang's array, is it not?"

"Worse," Riza whispered, shaking her head. "It's my tattoo. Someone tried to recreate my tattoo." She set the paper down hurriedly. Everything was falling into place. She should have known. She should have suspected. Evidence of alchemy and alkahestry... and now an attempted recreation of her greatest secret. No one knew about her tattoo... no one except... "You're right... we have to get out of here," she whispered. Her back seemed to burn; wounds she could not remember reopened by a looming, unseen threat. "We have to go. Now."

As she hurried away from the table to retrieve Devon, Riza was unsure whether it was misfortune or an astounding bit of luck that they found this place. She guessed it was a little of both.

They had happened upon the lair of her attacker.

-o-o-o-

The room was quiet but for the soft sound of breathing somewhere to his left. Mustang shifted, tightly squeezing the arm that led him before he realized what he was doing. "Sorry," he muttered, gently resting his fingers back in place. The nurse at his side merely chuckled, placing one hand over his.

"Think nothing of it. You want me to bring you closer?"

Mustang nodded. "Could you… I mean, would you… take me to his…?"

"Of course."

He could hear the unasked question in her voice, the unvoiced assumptions, and he could not blame her. She knew as well as he did that turmoil brewed in both camps. Things were alarmingly precarious, and even one false step could lead to disaster. But for now things were stable. Mustang sent Miles and the others on their urgent errands. The officers were occupied carrying out his orders. Mustang found himself alone in his office, contemplating what was to come. He felt restless, and left the command center in the company of Hayate to clear his mind while he waited for the others to return. Almost unwittingly, his steps led him to the infirmary.

He did not know what he intended. There was nothing for him here - no consolation, no forgiveness. Breda had not woken up since his injury; Roy could not speak with him or attempt to explain. He could not even _see_ Breda. Yet a rising apprehension filled him as the nurse led him across the room. He was not ready to face the reality of what he did - the truth of his inner darkness.

"Here you are, sir," the nurse said. It was clear she was doing her best to keep her voice brisk. She pulled her arm from his and Mustang heard the squeak of wood over tile as she pulled a chair to the bedside. Soon her hands were on his shoulders, guiding him down to sit.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

A rustle of fabric; he was sure it was a nod. "Anything else, General?"

Roy shook his head. "No. Thank you." A pause. "If you could just give me a moment alone…"

"Of course." He heard her rubber-soled shoes as she strode away. They hardly made a sound - nothing more than a whisper - but they sounded loud compared to the quiet that filled the room. After a few paces, the nurse paused, seemingly deciding something. She sighed and walked back to his side. "Here," she said gently, lifting the general's hand to place it on the edge of the bed. "It's right here." She turned away without another word. Soon he heard the door close, leaving him alone in the room but for the unconscious man before him.

Roy took a deep, shuddering breath and rubbed his free hand on his thigh. His palms were already slick with sweat. Again he was struck with a feeling of hopelessness, of missing something essential that he did not realize he had in the first place. Mustang bowed his head and folded his hands on his lap.

"Breda," he whispered. "Things are bad - " Roy stopped, swallowing his words. What was he doing? Talking to an unconscious man? An ironic chortle whiffled through his nose and he shook his head. Perhaps he needed to do this. Perhaps it was better to talk. "But you know that better than I do, don't you?" He laughed again - this time aloud - and he bit down on the sound, trying his best to stifle it. The laugh was ugly and wrong - nothing more than a cold, unfeeling noise. It bordered on insane. If he did not stop now, the nurse was sure to think he was going mad. Perhaps he was.

Mustang lifted his head, trying to imagine the face of his sleeping lieutenant. It felt like ages since he last _saw_ Breda. He was no longer sure if he could remember the tiny details that made the lieutenant who he was: the nuances of his expression, the redness of his hair, the way his uniform fell over his shoulders. It was what Roy feared more than anything: that he was beginning to forget what the others looked like. Roy closed his eyes and concentrated on what he could remember of those he most loved. Havoc, with his strong jaw and merry blue eyes. Breda, ironic and wise, with a perpetual spray of stubble on his chin. Falman, hard-faced and serious. Fuery, earnest and smooth-cheeked...

He took a deep breath.

And Riza. He missed her most of all. Her quietness, her firmness, the tranquillity in her eyes. He needed that now. He needed _her_ now. He felt so empty - so incomplete - without her. And despite the number of years they shared together, even her image was slipping from his mind. He could hardly remember how the sun hit her hair _just so_, how her stride was so sure and steady, or the look of her hands - a mixture of feminine softness and hard calluses. She was slipping away and it terrified him.

"I'm alone, Breda." His hands seemed to move of their own accord, and before he realized he was gripping the bedsheets in two painful fists. The starch crinkled under his fingers. "You're injured... Havoc's gone missing... even Falman and Fuery avoid me now." Something stuck in his throat, forcing him to swallow. "And she... she's gone. She left me. I can't... I don't blame her. I've destroyed everything. All my hopes... all _our_ hopes sabotaged by my own foolishness." He spat the last word bitterly. "It's my fault. _My_ fault." His voice became more choked and he stopped, overcome. For a time, he only managed a doleful sound from the back of his throat.

"Forgive me."

Roy leaned down to press his face into the backs of his hands, still clenched tightly in the hospital sheets. He was surprised to feel something damp on his skin. Drops fell into the spaces between his fingers. Roy reached up and found his cheeks were wet.

He was crying.

-o-o-o-

Riza wasted no time. She hurried to the water's edge and took hold of Devon's hand while Suyin busied herself in ensuring the table was left just as they found it. There was no telling when the unnamed attacker would return. It was clear that whoever she was, she was immensely powerful. Perhaps - as Riza suspected earlier - she even had a Philosopher's stone. Either way, she and Suyin would be no match for her.

The pair of women made their way up the stone stairs in silence, straining their ears for any signs of approaching footsteps. Devon trailed behind, seemingly reluctant to leave the water behind. In truth, Riza was unsure what to do with the child. He surely lived here, in the company of a girl with the ability to wield both alchemy and alkahestry. But the boy knew things now. He knew Riza and Suyin's faces. It was too risky to leave him behind. For all she knew, he might be able to communicate what happened. Or the attacker might be able to extract it from the poor boy's mind.

It was a relief to see a halo of real sunlight ahead. They were nearly to the exit. Hawkeye let out a breath she did not realize she was holding and plunged forward, eager to be outside. The sun had nearly set by the time they stepped away from the cavern and out of the crowded alley that lead to it.

"We made it," she breathed. Beside her, Suyin nodded. Riza glanced over to see the Xingese woman's lips pressed in a livid line. Her hands were clenched at her sides.

"We should not pause."

"I agree." Riza released Devon's hand; the boy was close to her side now and she doubted he would leave her now.

The two women pressed on. Neither uttered a word, afraid to be overheard by the unseen threat that seemed to loom around every corner. The sun tipped over the horizon, plunging them into red-tinged darkness. Nighttime creatures, roused by the cooling air, began to make their way from their burrows to the warm sand above and the desert slowly came to life.

For an instant, Hawkeye was released from her anxiety, freed by the verve and wonder that surrounded her. She spent so many nights in Ishval contemplating death, she never pictured it this way - as a place that held _life. _She paused and took a deep breath of the cool, dry air, reveling in its purity. _This must be how__ Devon, my little fox, __lives_, she thought. _Free and unaware... enjoying life as it comes._ She glanced back to where she last saw him, hoping to share a small smile with the boy. But the courtyard was empty. He was nowhere in sight.

"Devon?" she called uncertainly. "Devon?" There was no answer.

The boy had disappeared.

-o-o-o-

Roy could not be sure how long he sat at Breda's bedside. In many ways it felt like days, though the rational part of his mind knew it could not have been much more than an hour. He unwound gradually, slowly righting himself as he took control of his emotions. The last to relax were his hands: by the time he managed to unclench them from the bedsheets they were aching, his fingers cramped and contorted into claws.

He lingered too long. He had to get back to the others. Miles and Scar had most likely returned and hopefully they would have some intel as to the whereabouts of Havoc or the identity of this unnamed attacker. Then there would be the matter of checking the perimeter, ensuring the camps were safe... Roy stood slowly, feeling much older than his thirty-odd years.

"...Boss?"

Mustang stopped short, startled by the weak voice coming from the bed in front of him. "Breda..."

"Where am I?"

"The infirmary," Roy replied slowly. "You were... badly injured." He bowed his head. _And I was the one to do it_.

"I know that much, sir."

_Sir_. Mustang felt his heart clench and unclench for what seemed an eternity before he managed to take control of his emotions. "Do you... remember what happened? Do you remember -?" He bit off the remainder of the sentence. He could not bring himself to utter the words aloud: _Do you __recall__ what I did? __H__ow I lost control? __Can you remember __how I __nearly killed__ you?_

There was a long silence. After a time, the bedsprings groaned under Breda's weight and there came a soft rustling of sheets. The lieutenant had shifted, though Mustang was unsure what it meant. "... I remember stepping in front of the flames, if that's what you mean."

Sorrow hit Roy like a fist to the chest. "...Yes," he said. "It is." He opened his mouth - to explain, to ask forgiveness, to say _something_ - but no words came. He was too much a coward. He frowned and tried again.

"Don't, sir."

"I -"

"I said _don't_," Breda said. His voice was growing stronger by the moment.

Roy shrunk back in his chair. "Breda, please - "

"I won't hear it," Breda said, his voice hot despite the hoarseness of it. "I _won't_. You think I didn't know what I was doing? You think I was a _victim_?"

"You were." Roy leaned forward to rub his eyes with one hand. "You were."

Breda attempted a snort, but it only ended in a painful cough from deep inside his chest. "Ah! Fuck, that hurts," he muttered.

Mustang flinched; he did not need a reminder of the wound he inflicted.

After a moment, Breda cleared his throat. "Look, sir, _I_ chose to - "

"Stop! Just stop!" Mustang cried. "You wouldn't have had to do it if it weren't for me, Breda!" His hands fisted on the front of his trousers. "_I'm_ the one to blame. _I'm _the blind one. The stupid _idiot_ who..." He had to stop; he couldn't breathe. His chest hurt too much.

"Stupid idiot..." Breda said slowly, as though tasting the words. "Hm. Well, I'll give you that."

"This isn't a _joke_."

"I dunno," Breda said thoughtfully. "Seems to me like you could use a good laugh."

"Breda..."

"Look, _General_, I don't see this going anywhere, and I'm too fucking tired to argue with you right now. So let's just leave things where they are, alright? I'm sure there are bigger issues at hand."

Mustang allowed himself a weak smile. _Breda, ever the pragmatist._ "I'd rather not."

"Well, lucky for me, I'm the sick one, so I get final say."

The general pursed his lips, sighing deeply through his nose. "How... are you feeling, Breda?

Breda considered for a moment. "Hungry."

"Hungry," Mustang echoed weakly. "That's not what I -"

"I know what I said," Breda replied. Mustang heard the sheets rustle again. "What does it take for a guy to get a hot meal around here?"

As though in answer, the door to the room burst open. Both men let out cries of alarm. Mustang rose from his chair to lean back against the bed. "Who's there?"

Beside him, the lieutenant gasped.

"... Havoc?" Breda said weakly. "Is that you?"

-o-o-o-

It was some time before Suyin allowed Riza a moment to pause and rest. By then they were nearly through the Ishvalan ruins and the Amestrian camp was just visible in the distance. Suyin jumped atop a broken wall to survey the faraway lights. She regarded the camp with a thoughtful frown, head cocked as though listening for something. She remained still and quiet for nearly five minutes before she finally hopped down and settled on the sand beside Riza.

There was not much to say. The two women searched for nearly a half an hour, but neither was successful in finding a trace of the young boy. They eventually had to give up their hunt; the night grew darker and more chill by the moment. Strangely, it was Suyin who seemed the most frustrated by the loss. The Xingese woman paced the place where Devon disappeared, muttering over and over that she could not sense where he went. It was Riza who finally convinced Suyin to abort the search; they were getting nowhere.

Now the two women settled under a rocky outcropping in companionable silence. They shared a canteen back and forth for some time before Suyin decided to speak.

"We are nearly back to your camp," the Xingese woman said. "What do you plan to do when you return?"

Riza looked down at the container in hands. "I'll get reinforcements. I… have to take care of this. Besides," she frowned. "The camp needs water."

Suyin's eyebrow quirked. "There will be risks. You saw the arrays."

"I know that," Riza said softly. "But... she's the one responsible for the attack. She's the reason -" Riza stopped, idly fingering the strap of her canteen. "She's why everything has fallen apart."

"You will need alchemy to defeat her."

Riza nodded mutely. "I will need the general, you mean."

"In so few words, yes." Suyin looked up to the waxing moon. "Will you go to him?"

Riza curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her legs. "… I have to. I'm just not sure _how_. " She paused. "We did not part on the best of terms."

Suyin smiled. "I gathered." She turned to face the captain, legs still crossed. "But… it would be unwise to stay away I think."

"Oh?" Riza said drily.

"Lovers always quarrel," Suyin said. "But there is greater pain in being apart." She held up her cupped hands, one next to the other. "In Xing there is a fruit we call the lychee. It is red, the color of heart's blood. The fruit is sacred to us - it grows in the streets of the capitol and outside many of our homes." She brought her hands together, palm to palm. "We call those who are closest to us our 'half lychee,' the other half of our heart." Suyin frowned. "It sounds better in Xingese."

Warmth crept up Hawkeye's cheeks. "The general and I... we aren't lovers."

Suyin's frown deepened. "Yes you are."

"I can assure you we aren't."

The Xingese woman looked confused. "Then perhaps you were in the past?"

"I think I would have remembered that," Riza drawled sarcastically. "But no. We weren't. We were never." It was hard to keep the bitterness from her voice.

"I... see." Suyin looked away, a troubled expression on her face. "My apologies."

The two companions fell into awkward silence. One woman pensive, the other flooded with regret. After a time, Riza shifted and looked up at the Xingese woman.

"Suyin."

"Mmm?"

"If I am to face the one who attacked me, I need to know something."

"...Yes?"

"What did you see on those papers in the cave?" Riza shifted to catch the other woman's eyes. "Something frightened you down there. What was it?"

Suyin pursed her lips. "It is secret."

"You said that," Riza said. "But please... I need to know."

The Xingese woman sighed reluctantly. "Do you remember what I did to the Cadet? In the cell?"

Riza nodded.

"As you may imagine, there are worse things that can be done with such an ability." Suyin shuddered. "Dark, twisted things. Imagine what could be done if one were to _manipulate_ the mind. Imagine what could be done if one sought to _control_ it."

"That's… possible?"

Suyin looked away. "Yes."

Riza chewed her lip thoughtfully. "That's what she did to Brantley, isn't it? She took control of his mind and made him attack those Ishvalans." She paused, a sick feeling sinking into her gut. "She did it to me, too. That's why... that's why I can't remember."

"Yes," Suyin said sadly. The Xingese woman glanced up to meet Riza's eyes, and the captain was surprised to find them open and unguarded for the first time. "I am... sorry, Captain. I suspected this girl knew alkahestry. I suspected she knew some of the teachings... but I did not realize how far she had progressed. I was taught by a sect who values secrecy above all things; I only sought to protect knowledge that can be dangerous in the wrong hands." She sighed. "As I said, some things are secret for a reason. But then I saw the writings in the cave, and I understood the true extent of her power." Suyin bowed her head. "I was a fool."

"I... understand." Riza paused and considered the other woman silently. A soft smile touched her lips. "You know, Suyin, you'd better be careful." Her smile split when the Xingese woman shot her an incredulous look. "If you keep going like this, I just may start to like you."

"Captain," Suyin said. "There is... something else you must know."

"You can tell me on the way." Riza stood and offered her hand. "Come on. We've got a long way to go and I'd like to be back to camp before dawn."

-o-o-o-

"Havoc?" Mustang breathed, flooded with relief. "You're safe. Thank God." He took a step forward. "Where have you been?"

Havoc did not make a sound.

"Sir," Breda whispered from the bed beside him.

"Catalina said you were near the explosion," Mustang pressed. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Breda's hand clasped around Roy's wrist, tugging him backwards. "Sir," he said urgently. "Something's not right."

"What is it?" Roy said, frowning. "Is he hurt? ...Havoc?"

The only answer was silence.

Breda was right: something was off. Havoc was not a quiet man. He was the boisterous one of the group; he never entered the room without making his presence known. But the figure that stood at the door was unnervingly silent. Mustang could hardly hear him breathe. And even more strange -

"I don't smell smoke," Roy whispered. "I don't smell smoke." He hesitated, half-afraid of the question he was about to ask. "Is he smoking, Breda?"

"No, sir," Breda said. "There's something wrong with him... He's... he's just _staring_ at you." Breda fought to sit up further in bed. "Hey, Havoc! Snap out of it, mate!"

The man at the door shifted; Mustang could hear the sound of a metal clasp coming undone and that of cloth on cloth. Breda's fingers spasmed on Mustang's wrist and the lieutenant pulled him back against the bed.

"Get back, sir!" Breda cried. "Havoc, what are you doing? Please don't!"

Unbalanced, Mustang's fell across Breda's legs, eliciting a soft moan from the lieutenant. "What is it?" he gasped.

Breda's voice wavered. The hand on Mustang's wrist shook. "Sir," he said. "Run. Get out of here."

"Lieutenant, what are you -?"

"_Sir_," Breda whispered urgently. "Havoc just pulled out his gun. He's pointing it straight at you."

"_General_."

Both soldiers froze at the sound of the voice that came from the other end of the room. It was Havoc's voice but it was also not, familiar and strange all at once. It seemed to come from somewhere deep beneath the earth.

"Havoc...?"

"_Come with me General_," Havoc said in a voice that was not his own. There was the soft click; he had pulled back the hammer of his gun - cocked and ready to fire. "_There's someone who'd love to meet you_."

-o-o-o-

Riza cried out and fell to her knees, fingers clenched in the sand. Suyin's voice came to her from where she stood behind, seeming to be more distant that what it was only moments before.

"What is it? Are you unwell?"

She hardly acknowledged the weight of Suyin's hand on her shoulder. The sensation was nothing compared to the pain that lanced through her skull. "I don't -" she groaned, squinting as tears welled in her eyes. She had never felt something so excruciating. "I don't know."

"Captain." Suyin's face came into view, concern in her dark eyes. "What is wrong? Speak."

Another stab of pain. Riza moaned and reached out to take hold of Suyin's collar. "I'm not sure," she gasped. "I'm… not sure."

"Focus, Captain."

Riza bit her lip. "...Roy," she managed. "It's Roy. Something's wrong."

For an instant, Suyin was startled. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open and she seemed incapable of speech. But just as abruptly the shock was gone, replaced by a placid, thoughtful expression. "... You are certain?"

"Yes," Riza breathed. "_Yes_. I don't know how. I just _know_." She looked up at the Xingese woman. "Please -" she said. "What's happening to me?"

Suyin regarded her silently as though deciding something consequential. "...You must go to him."

The words were so certain, so _commanding_, Riza was on her feet before she even paused to think. When she did, she stumbled, clutching her head, her breaths shuddering and panicked. "I ...What?" she gasped.

"You must go to him."

"I don't understand... _Why _must I?"

Suyin shrugged, seeming to let the question roll off her shoulders and onto the sand at her feet. She met Riza's eyes with startling, probing intensity. "Tell me, Captain. What do you feel?"

Riza blinked. "I... I feel pain."

The Xingese woman shook her head and made a motion at her side as though she were scolding a child. "No. _No_. What do you _feel_?"

"I -" Riza swallowed, struggling to focus her thoughts, struggling to understand what was happening to her - what was happening to _him_. "Roy. He's in danger. He's -" Riza paused, suddenly overcome with a wave of nausea.

"Yes." Suyin's eyes were burning like twin embers, quietly hot. "And?"

"He's... hurt," Riza said, and the tightness in her throat told her it was true. "He's _hurt_." As though in answer, a white-hot bolt stabbed her head again. "Suyin..." Riza whispered, half afraid of what she was about to say. "How can I know this? How can I know with such _certainty _it's him? I _know _it's Roy like I know today is Tuesday or the sun rises in the east."

Suyin nodded, encouraging her to continue.

"I felt it," Riza said, her voice growing stronger with each word. More fervent. More certain. "I _felt_ it. I know something struck him right -" her fingers brushed over the skin of one temple "- here."

"Instincts are powerful things."

"Is that what this is?" Riza murmured. "Instincts?" She shook her head, wincing at the pain it caused. "No, this is something else..."

"You must go to him." Suyin said.

"I..."

"You must go."

"I... can't. I don't even know where -" Riza paused, biting her lip. No, that was wrong. She _did_ know where Roy was: in the heart of the Amestrian camp. The sense of him was dwindling with every second, but she knew with a bone-aching certainty it was Roy. His presence was some faraway beacon, calling to her faintly from across the desert. And she felt something inside her rise up, calling back. It was like a song, a duet she knew from some half-remembered dream. She shifted from foot to foot, unsure, at the edge of a decision she did not fully understand.

Suyin nodded encouragingly, motioning with one hand. "Go."

Riza gasped as something released inside her, a cord that had been severed after being pulled tight for far too long. A strange, blazing heat burned in her chest. Soon her hands were on the buttons of her coat, pulling aside the wool, ripping it from her arms with an abandon she had never known before. She tossed it to the sand carelessly, casting it aside. It was nothing to her. In the next breath, she set off at a sprint towards the camp. She did not look back.

-o-o-o-

Left alone and haloed by the light of the rising moon, Suyin watched the retreating figure of the captain dwindle into the distance. Soon Hawkeye was lost to the darkness, swallowed by the expanse of endless desert. A slow, knowing smile spread on Suyin's lips and - for a moment - she closed her eyes and tipped her head towards the light the filtered from the stars above.

It was a long time before she followed. When she finally did, Suyin carefully placed her feet in Hawkeye's footsteps: desperate, haphazard things delved deep in the Ishvalan sand.

-o-o-o-

**A/N: Something astounding happened: fanart for Reverberations! The illustration is by the talented taylortot and you can find a link on my profile page. taylortot also happens to be a great author. I recommend her fic, "Fire Away," though any of her stories are worth your time. Do check her out and - more importantly - give her your support! Thanks, Taylor!**

**Thanks also to my amazing beta, Disastergirl!**

**As always, mil gracias for the faves, follows and reviews, folks!**

**Next Chapter****: Roar**


	18. Roar

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 18****: Roar ( / rôr / )**

_**1. verb**_** - to be disorderly**

_**2. verb**_** - to blow or break loudly and violently, as during a storm**

_**3. verb**_** - to laugh loudly or excitedly**

_**4. noun**_** - a loud cry, as of a person in distress, rage, or triumph**

-o-o-o-

The night air whispered over the roofs above the Amestrian camp. Ashika shivered. Though warmly wrapped, the chill broke through the thick cloth of her robes like tiny needles. She gathered them around her and stared across the cold expanse of desert that stretched to the east. She had returned to the ruined tower above the Amestrian camp to again watch her plans unfold. It seemed the perfect place.

Soldiers scurried through the streets below. It seemed the camp was on high alert since her little stunt with the water trucks. It was a risky decision and one she had not planned. Had she the choice, she would have preferred to act from a distance, to keep herself separate from the action. But she refused to let the opportunity slip from her fingers and it was well worth the risk. She obtained something valuable for her efforts: Lieutenant Havoc. He was the perfect vehicle to carry out the next stage of her plans; a man who would go unnoticed in a crowd. Indeed, none of the other soldiers took so much as a second glance as he strode through the streets, open but unseen. The road leading to the infirmary was hauntingly empty compared to those leading to central command, a fact for which she was grateful.

He fought it at first - more so than any she encountered thus far. His loyalties ran deep, infiltrating the very fabric of his soul. But his determination was nothing compared to the power of the Philosopher's stone, and his fight was short-lived. Loyalty only went so far. Friendship had limits. Love was was not depthless. She would have what she wanted from him.

He took her orders just as the sandy-haired cadet had: blank-eyed, slack-faced, and utterly obedient. She was certain Lieutenant Havoc would carry out her plans to perfection or die trying. Once she had delved her fingers into the mind of another, once she knew the cogs and wheels that made them tick, they were hers. If she desired it, Havoc would thrust his hand in a pit of embers or place a gun to his head. That would be for later, perhaps.

She did not need to wait long. Her new puppet carried out her orders with an efficiency that startled even her. Not minutes after the Havoc disappeared into the infirmary, the doors opened once more. Out strode General Mustang, followed closely by the blond lieutenant. The pair made a show of appearing casual, though Ashika knew Havoc had a gun pressed to his superior's back. She had been the one to tell him to do so, after all.

Ashika closed her eyes and stretched out her senses. Entering someone else's mind still felt foreign to her, but she had discovered from trial and error that if she concentrated, she could occupy a space in the mind of those she controlled. She could see and hear what they experienced, and - with some effort - influence their words and actions. Now she settled into Havoc's psyche to watch the spectacle. This was once scene she did not wish to miss.

"_Havoc," Mustang said, not turning to face his subordinate as he shuffled forward. "Don't do this." His breath shuddered in the chill air and he cried out when the Lieutenant's gun jammed the space under his ribs, urging him forward._

"Keep walking Mustang," Ashika whispered.

"_Keep walking Mustang." Havoc ordered. Even from the space she occupied in the Lieutenant's head, Ashika could hear the dull, mechanical timbre of his voice. Havoc pushed his superior mercilessly, hands firm and unyielding. He quickly ushered Mustang into the darkness that shrouded the space between the building Ashika occupied and the next._

_The general stumbled into the alley. Bereft of his cane and clearly unbalanced by the turn of events, he seemed more blind than ever. "Who are you?" he growled. "What have you done to Havoc?"_

Ashika hissed through her teeth. She should not have been surprised. Mustang knew his subordinates well, and it would be clear to him that the lieutenant was not himself. Yet it was unnerving to see how quickly the general deducted what had happened. Ashika shook her head. It mattered little. He was hers now. "Keep walking," she whispered, "Or I might do something you would regret."

_Havoc echoed her, cold and unfeeling. "Keep walking." He lifted the gun and pressed the barrel to the soft flesh beneath his chin. "Or I might do something you would regret."_

_Mustang lifted his head, his face pale. Despite his blank, unseeing eyes he seemed to understand the unspoken threat. "What do you want?" he whispered._

Ashika laughed, the sound echoing off the stones that lined the floor of her perch. The answer was so simple. She opened her mouth to speak.

"_You," said Havoc. "I want you, Mustang. I want you to know my pain. You killed them, Mustang. You destroyed my life." He thrust the gun forward and prodded the general's chest. "I want you to know what it is to suffer like that."_

_Mustang's face darkened. "...who are you?"_

_Havoc laughed, high and shrieking. A unnatural laugh - the laugh of a little girl. "You will see soon enough." He chuckled again, amused by some secret joke, and took hold of the general's shoulder with his free hand. "I do hope you aren't planning on using alchemy to escape. You wouldn't want to run the risk of hurting your dear Lieutenant, would you?"_

On the roof above, Ashika stood. _Take him somewhere concealed at the east end of camp_, she ordered._ You cannot be seen._

There was a non verbal affirmation from Havoc's mind.

_Incapacitate him._

_Yes,_ Havoc replied. Ashika saw the shadows shift as the lieutenant lifted the gun above his head. The general did not see the flash of metal in the darkness, nor did he see Havoc move to strike him. The butt made a sharp sound against Mustang's temple and the general crumpled with a soft 'huh.' He slumped into Havoc's waiting arms.

_Good_, Ashika purred. _Very good. Now, go. When I give you the signal, take him to the ruins._ The tall man hefted the general's limp body over one shoulder and moved on without a moment's hesitation. Ashika watched the lieutenant make his silent way through the alley below for the span of several breaths, then turned without another word. It would take some time for Havoc to carry the general to the edge of the camp, through back roads alleys, around swirling groups of soldiers. She had much to do in the meantime. She laid the necessary arrays in the Ishvalan camp hours ago, but she needed to place more here.

If all went well, she would not be interrupted tonight.

-o-o-o-

Her lungs burned and her legs felt heavier with each stride. Still Riza pressed on. For a time it seemed no matter how long she ran the camp never drew closer. The panic she felt when she first sensed Roy's injury still clung to her, and her entire body trembled to the point where at times she was unable to take step without stumbling. A sheen of sweat soaked through the thin material of her undershirt.

She was only halfway across the desert when she lost him. It was as startling a revelation as when she first felt his presence, and she stopped short, eyes roving the horizon. The sudden void made her feel tiny - like a ship lost in a storm - and she knew it could only mean something terrible. Mustang was gone. She could not feel his presence any longer. All that remained was a vacant hole in her chest. Riza knew in her heart that his disappearance meant he was unconscious or worse. She gulped in a few more breaths before starting up at a jog. There was nothing much more to do other than press on.

All was quiet in the camp. The first buildings she passed were barracks, the windows surprisingly dark despite the early hour. She expected most of the soldiers to be up studying or having one of their not-so secret gatherings to share a flask of smuggled liquor. Yet no one stirred on the streets or in the windows above. In the distance she could see a strange halo of light, as though a group had gathered at the center of the camp.

Riza had barely taken five steps into the perimeter before she was stopped by a barking command.

"Halt! Identify yourself!"

Riza stumbled and nearly fell. Her legs shook terribly from the race across the sands and she struggled to catch her breath. Yet she managed keep control enough to carefully bring her hand to the small of her back where she kept her gun. "It's Captain Hawkeye," she called back

"...Captain?" The voice was young and uncertain: clearly a private, frightened and overwhelmed by something much bigger than she. A thin figure emerged from the shadows. It was a young woman at least a decade Hawkeye's junior. "I wasn't sure... You aren't wearing your uniform, ma'am."

Riza shrugged, grateful her shoulders did not carry the weight of her thick, woolen coat. She would have never made it across the desert with that burden. "Why are you here, private?"

The girl's eyes widened. "Because of the attack, ma'am. I was posted guard here."

Fear gripped Riza's throat. "What... attack?"

The girl shook her head. "They wouldn't tell me. I was just told to guard the perimeter and report any suspicious activity..." the girl the girl's voice trailed. Suddenly she seemed stiff as a board.

Riza gasped, still breathing heavily after her long run. She turned to look at the faraway Ishvalan camp, where a large group of torches concentrated at its center. It, too, seemed to be on high alert. Riza swung her gaze to the private and was surprised to find a gun pointed at her head.

There was a long, tense pause.

"What... do you think you're doing, private?"

The girl's voice still carried fear, but with it was the firm resolve of one striving to do the right thing. "What... were you doing alone in the desert , Captain Hawkeye?"

"Lower your weapon, private," Riza said, struggling to keep her voice calm and commanding despite the desperate urge to move on as quickly as possible.

"I was to..." The girl's gun dropped an inch. She tightened her hands over the grip and lifted it to again point at the space between Hawkeye's eyes. "... report any su- suspicious activity. That was my _assignment_. I'm following _orders_."

"_Private_," Riza said. "Lower your weapon." She did not have patience for this. Anxiety wound like a tight bad band around her middle. Time ticked away and with every second, Mustang could be further and further from her reach.

"I'm taking you into custody, Captain. P- Please don't st- struggle. An- another one of the patrols will be here at any m- moment -"

"There isn't another," Riza said bluntly. "I know our limitations. We don't have enough men to cover the perimeter, let alone double them up."

"Please," the girl almost begged. "C- Come with me, Captain. Please come quietly."

"Private," Riza said. "Do you know what they call me?"

The girl hesitated. "The... the Hawk's Eye, ma'am."

"Do you know why?"

"Be- because you're a sniper... one of the best marksmen ..." the private's voice trailed again.

Riza nodded. "Private, I have nothing to do with the attack. I have important business in camp and you will not be taking me into custody tonight." Her hand moved like a flash and in an instant held her gun aloft and pointed at the younger woman's chest. "Step aside."

The private let out a choked sob. It was not long before she dropped her weapon to her side. "Please," she said. "Please... don't tell the others..."

Riza growled and started forward, anxious to be on her way. She caught the young girl's eye as she walked past. "Next time, take the safety off."

-o-o-o-

Major Miles paced the width of the general's office, impatiently awaiting the general's return. Mustang was gone by the time he finished his tasks in the Ishvalan camps and no one seemed to know where he went. Miles assumed he had been called away to settle an urgent matter before the rest of the team convened to discuss their next steps.

Each of them had been given an assignment, doled out with quiet efficiency by Mustang himself. Scar was to remain with the resistance, to lead the search for clues of the attacker. Rebecca, who had shown her worth following the attack, was tasked with gathering the low-ranking soldiers either assigning them to guard the perimeter or directing them to the main square where they would be debriefed. Falman was ordered to find Fuery, who was to scan and filter the airways. They had to control the flow of information before it was misinterpreted. Afterwards, the lieutenant was to fetch Captain Hawkeye. Miles had been tasked with escorting Caelyn back to the Ishvalan camp, where she would begin preparations there.

It was a simple matter to find the Ishvalan Counsel. Rumors abounded in both camps and people milled through the streets, talking in hushed, conspiratorial voices. Counselors Mulvihill and Alain had positioned themselves at the center of the camp, dual beacons of reassuring calm amidst turmoil. Caelyn wasted no time in explaining the situation. Thankfully, even the petulant Alain seemed to understand how dangerous and delicate matters had become. They sprang to action with the quiet kind of command that startled even the military-trained Miles.

The plan was simple: each camp was to gather everyone together in one place, organized by house, by family , by squadron or rank. With a simple headcount, it would be possible to see who - if anyone - was missing. Then the search for information would begin. Had anyone seen something suspicious? Anything out of the ordinary? Friend would ask friend, neighbor ask neighbor - a community of people searching for a single answer. The same would be performed in the Amesterian camp. To keep things separate was a smart move on Mustang's part: the Ishvalan citizens would never tolerate questioning, especially by Amestrian soldiers, and the mistrust on either side would be too heated for such a thing to be safely performed in one place. The general left the census and interviews in the Council's hands, trusting they were as eager to find the attacker as he was.

Meanwhile Scar accompanied Shane to gather the remaining members of the Resistance. The younger Ishvalan was not exactly pleased with the arrangement, but it seemed a more tolerable option than being paired with Miles. At least a dozen of Shane's men, accompanied by a contingent of still-dazed soldiers from the caravan, remained in the desert to search for clues of the unnamed assailant. They had not yet returned.

Before Miles left the Ishvalan camp to rush back to the command center, Caelyn had stopped him, placing a hand on his arm with a soft familiarity that startled him. Their conversation had rattled him, and even now it turned over and over in his mind.

"_Thank you, Major," Caelyn said. "You and Scar were right to come to me."_

_Miles shook his head. "It should never have happened. If Mustang hadn't -"_

"_He was foolish, yes," said Caelyn. "And it will take time for him to regain our trust. But who isn't foolish when it comes to matters of the heart?" She smiled at Miles warmly. "You of all people should know. Yours is more open than you think. You love this country, though you would not admit it."_

_Not for the first time, Miles was glad for his dark sunglasses. They concealed things - feelings he would rather keep hidden. "Of course I care." He tried to keep his face impassive but his chin dropped and a tight feeling worried at his throat. "I always wished -" He swallowed his words before he made a fool of himself._

_Caelyn sighed. "I know how you wish to be one of us," she said. "But I promise... you are. You have always had a place in Ishval. And you have proved yourself true, again and again."_

_Miles paused, unsure of how to respond. "Thank you," he managed, not sure what more he could say. "I... must be going."_

"_Of course." Caelyn's smile was soft - a thing full of wistful hope and grandmotherly love. "Good luck... my son."_

Now alone in the general's office, Miles allowed himself a moment to lean against the window and draw a deep breath. Caelyn was right: he cared deeply, to the very core of his being. But it was not just for the land. It was for its people: his Ishvalan brothers. Miles could not change the past. He knew who he was. He was Ishvlan and Amestrian both; he would always be divided. It was up to him to determine if it was his weakness... or his strength.

The door burst open behind him and Miles turned with a relieved sigh. "General, I was getting worried. Where have -" He stopped short. "Captain... ?"

"_Where is he_?"

The major shrank against the window sill, startled by the force of her voice. Captain Hawkeye had always struck him as a calm, reserved soldier - someone whose steadiness offset the man she protected. But the woman who stood before him was nothing like the one he knew. The captain's hair fell from its clip in clumps, soaked with sweat and matted to her cheeks and neck. She panted heavily as though after a long sprint. And there was an unsteadiness to her that spoke of a deep fear: her chest rose and fell with a vulnerability that told Miles something was terribly wrong.

"Captain..." he said slowly, still trying to reconcile this woman with the soldier he knew. "Did Falman find you? We are about to convene to discuss the attack -"

The captain's brows furrowed. "I... no. He didn't. I was... away." She took several hesitant steps forward. "Please, Miles... where is General Mustang?" One of her hands clasped and unclasped restlessly over the gun strapped to her hip.

"He was just -" Miles stopped again as Lieutenant Falman entered the room, looking oddly disheveled and clearly worried. The grey-haired man's eyes widened at the sight of Captain Hawkeye, whose face darkened when she saw the man who entered the room was not the one she sought.

"C- Captain," Falman breathed. "I've been looking everywhere for you. You weren't in your apartment or -"

"Stop," Hawkeye said, lifting a hand to quiet him. "We don't have time. I need to know where the general is. Immediately."

Falman blinked and glanced around the room, surprised. "He isn't... here?" The lieutenant looked to Miles, who shook his head. "Perhaps he stepped away for a moment to take care of something. I'm not sure if you're aware, but the water -"

"_No_," Riza said through gritted teeth. "Something happened to him. I know it."

"...Hawkeye?"

"It's hard to explain." The captain shook her head as though to clear it. "I... I _can't _explain. I just know something's wrong. We have to find him. Quickly."

Miles exchanged a glance with Falman. "What is it, Captain? Do you know something?"

Hawkeye merely shook her head. "Falman," she clipped. "Survey the soldiers posted outside the command center. Find out if they saw the general leave the building. We need to know where he headed, when he left... everything."

"Yes, ma'am." The Lieutenant backed out of the door without another word.

"Major." Riza turned to face Miles and for the first time he could see lines of worry around the woman's mouth and eyes. She looked as though she had aged a decade. "Tell me what happened. Tell me about the attacks."

Miles swallowed. It was not an easy thing to articulate. But Hawkeye's eyes were desperate, full of a fear Miles could only partially understand. He took a deep breath and began.

-o-o-o-

Ashika stood, wiping dust from the front of her robes. The pentagram laid out before her was the last in a series of five, placed to form a perfect circle. She hid them in alleys, where they were unlikely to be seen. Now it was a matter of setting things in motion. Once she triggered the first array, the others would follow, one after another. They would be her means of escape - a safety net to ensure she would not be disturbed. Her work tonight was delicate and she did not wish to have her time with Mustang interrupted.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the alley and Ashika stepped to the side, pressing further into the shadows. She hurriedly tucked her bone-white hands into the sleeves of her robe. Soon a pair of Amestrian soldiers appeared at the end of the alley.

"Lieutenant Catalina ordered us to gather in the main square," one said, his loud voice echoing off the wooden walls. "What happened? Do you know?"

"Mitch told me it was some kind of drill," said the other. His voice was more subdued and thoughtful - afraid, even. "But I think he's full of shit. It think it's something real. Besides," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tess told me she saw something strange during her shift on northside patrol."

"What did she see?"

"Smoke."

"Smoke?"

"Yeah, just to the northwest of camp. She wasn't really sure what to make of it... it was coming on dusk and all, but..."

"Some kind of attack?"

The second figure shrugged. He was close now - Ashika had to only stretch out a hand and touch one of their sleeves. But the dark was thick and concealing, and they had not noticed her. She hoped they would not see her array in the paltry light. Ashika was not interested in fighting these ignorant fools tonight. Disposing of them would be a messy job that might draw attention.

"Maybe," said the second. "She couldn't be sure. But it's kind of odd, don'tcha think? There's nothing out there... why would she see smoke?"

"Saints alive," the first said. He sounded excited, as though he'd been waiting some time for something like this to happen. "An attack, Dan! Real-life combat!"

"Guess so," said Dan, who sounded much less enthusiastic than his companion. "But if that's the case, the command sure is keeping tight-lipped about it. Catalina wouldn't say a word."

"Well," said the other. "To be fair, she did say something..." His voice swung up into a mocking imitation of a woman's. "'Quit being a bunch of pricks and follow your damn orders!'" He chuckled. "I like her."

The second soldier let out an amused huff through his nose. "Yeah, but what's she doing here? That's what I want to know." The two men were several paces away now and their shadows grew smaller by the second. "C'mon. Let's hurry to the square."

Ashika stepped from the shadows and watched the soldiers disappear around the corner. As she predicted, the Amestrians were gathering their forces, preparing to face an enemy that would never come. She would be far away by the time she finally triggered the arrays. She smiled and quickly made her way to the opposite end of the alley. Anticipation gnawed at her belly. Things were swiftly falling into place. She stretched out her mind to the lieutenant, who stood in the shadows at the edge of camp over a half mile away. He was waiting for her, obedient and ready for her next command. Mustang hung unconscious from his shoulder.

_Take him to the ruins_, she ordered._ If anyone sees you... kill them._

After a resounding silence, Havoc's voice came to her, faint and echoing. _Yes... Ashika_.

-o-o-o-

It was nearly unbearable - the time it took to find where he went. Mustang had seemingly disappeared. Many soldiers half-remembered seeing a dark-haired man somewhere in the crowd that milled in the streets below the command building, but only a small handful could confirm they truly saw the general. After many dozen questions and several dead ends, Falman and Hawkeye finally had a solid lead on his last known location: the infirmary.

Riza was frantic by the time she, Miles and Falman hurried through the front doors. She hadn't sensed so much as a hint of Mustang's presence for over an hour, and it frightened her in ways she could not begin to explain. Hope seemed to dwindle with each passing second. Too much time had transpired, and their one and only lead could result in nothing.

She guessed how it must have appeared to the others - her rising panic, her insistence that the general was in danger without any evidence to prove it was true. Falman and Miles seemed to take it in stride, but she knew it would not last. Riza could only imagine what she looked like at this point: She was certain she was as wild-eyed as she felt.

A nurse intercepted them the moment they entered the main hallway. Like the rest of the team, she looked disheveled, her normally pristine hat askew. "Thank goodness," she breathed. "I was just about to send some men to find you. There's been an incident." She motioned with one hand and Riza could see one of her sleeves was covered in blood. "Quickly, this way."

Hawkeye struggled to catch up; her exhaustion had only worsened since she arrived in camp. "Was the general here?"

The nurse face turned the color of her uniform. "He was. He told me he came here to visit Lieutenant Breda. I took him to the room myself." She reached up to wipe at the corner of each eye. "I thought he needed some privacy, so I left him alone. When I went back to check on him, he was gone. I found Lieutenant Breda half out of bed, awake but severely dazed."

"Breda woke up?" Falman cried from several paces back. "Is he alright?"

The nurse nodded. "Dr. Marcoh arrived with a group of injured soldiers not long after. He's tending to the lieutenant as we speak." The had arrived at the door, and she stood to the side to allow them entry. The nurse glanced up at them and for the first time Riza could see sharp intellect shining through the woman's fear. "Major... Captain... what happened out there in the desert? All those injured soldiers... men and women I do not know from camp..." She made a helpless gesture at her side. "What _happened_?"

Riza shifted, anxious to enter the room and afraid to say too much. It was hard to explain; there were still too many things they did not know. Worse, it was unclear who they could trust. But one of the injured soldiers was sure to talk, and would be only a matter of time before the medical staff learned the truth. "The water tanks were attacked," Riza said. "We're still trying to identify the person responsible. It's entirely possible they had to do with Mustang's disappearance."

The nurse gave a single nod, her face surprisingly calm. "We want to help. What can we do, Captain?"

"Ask the other medics and nurses if they saw something - anything suspicious." She took a step toward the door, her hand outstretched to grasp the knob, but stopped when struck with a sudden thought. "Also... it might be useful to send a few of your staff to the Ishvalan camp with a some medical supplies, if you can spare them. I have the feeling this girl is not done with us yet."

"We will," said the nurse. "Good luck, sirs." She turned away without another word. Her brisk, businesslike steps echoed hollowly over the tile.

Hawkeye watched the woman's shrinking figure for a few moments before she took a deep breath and entered the room.

Breda was propped against the metal headboard, awake for the first time in what seemed like ages. Marcoh hovered nearby, busily rolling a long piece of gauze, his scarred face twisted in worry. Riza paused in the doorway and allowed herself a single sigh - the tiniest release of tension - before she made her way to Breda's bed. The lieutenant's face was pale, his eyes open and bewildered. They widened with surprise when she, Miles and Falman entered the room.

"Hawkeye!" Breda's relief was palpable. It took Riza a moment to remember that the last time he saw her she was lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

Riza caught hold of the lieutenant's hand. Falman joined her at the bedside, close enough to brush shoulders. "Are you alright Breda?" he murmured. "The nurse said - "

The lieutenant's face grew paler and he shook his head. "I'm... fine. But... I couldn't stop him. I tried, but I... couldn't."

Marcoh cleared his throat and gave Riza a meaningful look from across the bed. "That's all I've gotten from him so far. They found him nearly on the floor. Looked like he was trying to get out." He pointed to Breda's collar, which was dark with blood. "Nasty laceration on the back of his skull, which I don't think he got from the floor. Mild concussion."

"Breda," Hawkeye said hurriedly. She squeezed Breda's hand in hers. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Of course I do." Breda growled. "Havoc took him."

"Havoc was here?" Falman said.

Riza saw the darkening look Breda's face and was struck with a sudden, terrifying suspicion. "What do you mean... took him?"

Breda frowned. "I mean _took him_."

"Are you sure it was Havoc?" asked Falman.

"No," said Breda, eyes turning inward. "It wasn't Havoc. It was someone else."

"You're not making much sense, Breda," Falman said.

Marcoh set the bandages down on the bedside tray. "He shouldn't be confused. His injury isn't severe enough for that."

"Of course I'm not confused! I know what I saw!"

"Start from the beginning, Breda," Riza urged.

Breda reached up to rub the cut at the base of his skull before Marcoh managed to stop him. "I woke up... and the general sitting right next to me. We talked for a bit..."

"Go on," Riza said. She tried not to think of how painful it must have been - that first, stiff conversation after Breda's injury.

"We were talking... then Havoc burst through the door." The lieutenant's hand spasmed around Riza's and he looked up at her, begging to be understood. "But it _wasn't Havoc_, Hawkeye. It couldn't have been. He wasn't even _assigned_ here."

"He was," Riza said grimly. "I sent for him. He was with the water caravan when it was attacked."

"The hell?" Breda cried. "By who?"

"Later," Riza said. "We'll explain later, Breda. Just finish telling us what you saw."

Breda's mouth worked soundlessly, seemingly at a loss. He had been so certain the man he saw was not his longtime, trusted friend. "...Havoc pulled a gun on us. He told Mustang to come with him. Told him there was someone who was dying to meet him." The lieutenant paused, his fingers smoothing the sheets over his knees. "His _voice_, Riza. It wasn't him. I _swear_ it wasn't him."

Riza fought back tears. Breda was right. Havoc - brave, kind, _loyal_ Havoc - would never betray them. Not willingly, at least. Her suspicions grew as she remembered the ghost-white face of Cadet Brantley, a man made to do horrible things against his will. She struggled to bite down on the rising fear that threatened to overwhelm her.

"I tried to stop Mustang from going." The lieutenant's voice grew rougher with each word, more heated and desperate. "And I tried to protect him. But..." He ripped his hand from Riza's and covered his eyes. "It was Mustang who protected me. He told Havoc he would do anything he wanted, so long as he didn't hurt me. Didn't even put up a fucking fight. I don't think he was willing to use alchemy. Not after..." one hand dropped to brush absentmindedly over his chest.

A vacuous silence filled the room; everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

After a time Breda shook his head. "He couldn't see and I was too weak to do much more than mewl like a kitten."

"I'm sorry, Breda," Riza whispered.

"Mustang went with him to keep me from getting hurt. I tried to follow, but Havoc took a swing at me before they left." His hand drifted up to the base of his skull again. "I don't remember much more until... well..." He waved at the floor. "Marcoh told you how they found me."

"What does it mean?" Miles said. "Is Havoc in league with the attacker?"

Hawkeye glared at the Major, and was relieved to see Breda and Falman do the same.

"Never," Falman said. "He would _never_."

"How do you explain, then -?"

"The captain can," said a voice from the other end of the room

Everyone turned to face the sound. The sole window stood open and occupied by a Xingese woman dressed entirely in red silk. Riza let out a breath, though the other men in the room remained tightly wound. Suyin looked as she always did, unruffled and perfectly at ease, balanced on the sill with her feet dangling just above the floor.

"At ease." Riza murmured to the others. "Suyin, I don't think -"

"It is the same as the cadet," the Xingese woman said. "You know it is true."

"Who is this woman, Captain?" Miles said, eying Suyin with a fair bit of suspicion. "What the hell is she talking about?" Breda and Falman exchanged a glance and watched the woman approach quietly, as though they had met her before.

Riza took a great, shuddering breath. "There is a good possibility that this Ishvalan girl... that she can..." She could hardly form the words; it was too difficult to utter outloud. The others would think her insane.

"She can twist the mind," Suyin finished calmly. "She can control it."

"Mind control?" Marcoh sputtered. "Ridiculous. You expect us to believe -?"

But Breda was already nodding. "Yes. _Yes_. That's it. That _has_ to be it. You didn't see Havoc. He wasn't himself. He would never - "

Miles turned to Riza, brows furrowed. "You can't tell me you believe this, Captain."

"Not only do I believe it," Riza said. "But I've seen it. I've seen proof that Cadet Brantley attacked that Ishvalan family while under the influence of alkahestry. Suyin is right. This girl has the ability to force people to do things against their will." She shifted uncomfortably and glanced up at the doctor. "I also have reason to believe she has a philosopher's stone."

"That explains..." Marcoh murmured to himself. "And with alkahestry, I suppose it could be possible..."

"And what are we supposed to do with this information?" Miles pulled off his glasses to rub them on the cuff of one sleeve. "The general is missing and we have no idea when or _where_ this girl will strike next. We're vulnerable."

Riza nodded. "You're right. We have to protect the camps... but I can't - I _won't_ - stay here, Major," she said firmly. "I'm going after him."

"You'll need help," Breda said, pressing two fists on the mattress to prop himself higher. "I can -"

"No, Breda," Falman muttered. "You're not well. Be logical." He patted the lieutenant's shoulder apologetically. "I'll come with you, Captain."

"I'll come too," said Marcoh. "I'm partially to blame. If it weren't for me, the stone wouldn't be -"

"Are you all insane?" Miles said. "The three of you against a Philosopher's stone? Are you sure you want to risk your lives for him?"

"We have to try," said Riza. Falman nodded at her side.

"And where do you propose to find him?" Miles's voice was low and heated; it was clear he had reached the end of understanding. "Even if someone here saw where they went, I doubt -"

"The captain knows where he is," Suyin said, coming to stand beside Falman.

Four pairs of eyes swiveled towards Riza, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "No I don't." Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "He's gone."

Suyin cocked her head. "Are you certain?"

"I... I can't feel him anymore." Riza looked away to avoid the eyes of her companions, whose expressions ranged from curious to concerned.

"Try."

Miles frowned at the Xingese woman. "Captain, what is this about?"

Suyin made a gesture at the Major to silence him. "Try," she said again, staring at Hawkeye hard as though trying to force something into her. "Focus."

Riza sighed deeply through her nose and closed her eyes. It felt ridiculous. There was nothing - no faraway voice, no familiar presence - nothing of the strange _knowing_ she had before. All she felt was the emptiness she experienced the day she struck him, after he stormed from the room and left her alone. She shrugged and shook her head. It was pointless to try. Whatever she felt out there in the desert was gone, never to return.

"_Focus_," Suyin said. Her voice seemed to come from far away. "_Remember_."

"I can't. He's..." _Gone_, she said to herself. _Roy..._

The thought of his name sparked something in her. Suddenly a great rushing sound filled Riza's ears and she felt as though she were being pulled, drawn out like a string of toffee. Soon her mind was rushing over dark sand and shadowed rock, flying at an impossible speed. The desert spread coldly below her, but she hadn't the body to feel it. Her speed slowed and she came to rest over yawning hole in the earth, half-covered in rubble. She saw a tall shadow carrying a burden down into the depths. And with it she sensed a spark of warm, familiar life.

"The ruins," Riza's eyes flew open. "They're in the ruins."

-o-o-o-

Riza and the others wasted no time. It was reassuring to know Mustang was alive, but they took little comfort in how easily he slipped through their fingers. Hawkeye decided to keep the rescue party small: only she, Marcoh and Falman would make their way across the desert. Suyin also agreed to go, though her face was dark and troubled. It did not take long to quietly arrange for a truck to be deposited on the edge of the camp; it was her hope that their departure would go relatively unnoticed.

Miles remained behind to secure their borders and cover for them as best he could. The Ishvalan did not seem to understand their motivations in the least; his only priority was to keep those that remained in camp safe. Their parting was as brief as it was awkward.

"_If we don't return..." Riza said as she strapped yet another gun to the holster that hung from her hip. "Don't think of going after us. It's too dangerous."_

_Miles frowned. "Are you sure you want to do this, captain? Mustang... he brought this on himself."_

_Riza hardly glanced at the major. "It's my duty to protect him."_

"_Even if it means your life?"_

_Her lips flattened into a determined line. "Even into hell."_

_Miles crossed his arms. "You remind me of a woman I know. Stubborn."_

_The last gun loaded and ready, Riza turned away from the major. "I can't imagine what you mean."_

_There was a surprised pause, then a belated call: "Happy hunting, Captain."_

Falman, Marcoh and Suyin were waiting for her near the vehicle by the time she arrived. The truck was nearly ready, its trunk filled with nondescript boxes she knew held weapons that may or may not be of use. She pushed through the last meandering line of soldiers to make her way to the others. Most of the rest of the troops were already concentrated near the command center. Riza stopped when a familiar voice called to her over the din.

"Ri! Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"...Rebecca?" Riza turned to see her friend approach at a jog. "So Miles was right. You are here."

Catalina waggled her eyebrows. "You-know-who sent me." She placed a hand on her hip. "You know, Ri, it wasn't exactly the smartest move on your part - calling him out of the blue and demanding he send a cripple to rejoin your team. It was _kinda_ suspicious. Grumman didn't buy it."

"Of course he didn't." Riza eyed her friend with a weary smile. "That's why you're here, isn't it? He was looking for an excuse to send one of his people."

"Good thing said person is kinda partial to a certain friend who helped her survive cadetship." Rebecca grinned. "I wonder if he knows we shared a bunk back at the Academy?"

"It is a good thing," Riza agreed. "And I doubt he does."

"Whatcha up to?" Catalina glanced at Marcoh, who was already in the truck and waiting expectantly in the front passenger seat. Falman stood nearby, loading the last remaining cases in the trunk. Suyin hovered several feet from the vehicle, eyeing the wheels with some amount of speculation.

"Sorry, Rebecca," Hawkeye began. "I really don't have time to -"

"It's about Mustang, isn't it?"

Riza stopped, heart in her throat. "How did you...?"

Catalina tapped her temple with one finger and winked. "I know you, Riza Hawkeye. And I know what it means when you have _that_ look in your eyes. What'd he go off and do this time?"

Hawkeye winced. "He's been... abducted, Rebecca. By the same girl who attacked the water trucks." Catalina let out a startled cry and Riza reached out to take hold of her friend's elbow. "Don't speak of this to anyone," she said softly. "Please. Especially not Grumman."

"Of... course," she whispered.

"I have to go."

"Riza... wait." Catalina glanced at the car again and pursed her lips. "Looks like you got a pretty small crew. If you need another man for the job..."

Riza hesitated before meeting her friend's eye. "I'd be... grateful for all the help I can get."

"Sure thing," Rebecca said, and the tension went out of her like a deflated balloon. She punched Riza lightly on the shoulder. "Just like old times. Got my stuff all ready and everything." She tugged on the strap of her gun and sighed wistfully. "No grenade launchers this time around, but you can't always get what you want, right?"

Riza watched wordlessly as her friend waltzed past. As always, Rebecca moved with the simple ease with which she did most things, making herself welcome without need for invitation. It was not long before the lieutenant slid into the car; from all appearances she looked as though she belonged there. Falman sent Riza a questioning look as he rounded the vehicle, but she merely shook her head, motioning for him to get in the back seat as well. She turned toward Suyin.

"Let's go."

"Captain..." Suyin said slowly. The corners of her lips were downturned - something Riza had slowly begun to recognize as reluctance in the other woman. Suyin's black eyes seemed to bore into hers.

"Suyin," Riza said impatiently. "Get in the truck."

"No."

"It's perfectly sound," Riza huffed and stomped over to pat the hood. "Come on."

"It's not that," Suyin said. She twisted her silk belt between two hands - a strangely nervous gesture from one so ordinarily reserved. "I have... something to say."

"Can't it wait?

"No." The word was firm, the line of Suyin's lips firmer. "No. I have held my tongue for too long. There - "

"We have to hurry," Hawkeye interrupted, louder. A familiar, growing urgency gnawed at her gut. "You yourself said -"

"Riza," Suyin clipped. "Before you do this thing - before you go to the desert - you must know the truth."

Riza paused, startled. Suyin had never addressed her by her first name before. "The... truth? The truth about what?"

"The truth of what I Saw the day I healed you."

The world came to a halt. Sound, movement, light - everything dimmed away to nothing. Riza reluctantly lifted her eyes to Suyin's face. A terrible sound swelled in her ears, like the distant roar of some angry crowd. Something in her heart told her what the Xingese woman was about to say would cause her world to shatter. Their eyes met, and Riza could see her own fear reflected back tenfold. "What... are you talking about?" she whispered.

"Come. Let us speak in private." Suyin motioned with one hand and stepped away from the car. Riza followed wordlessly, not heeding Marcoh and Rebecca's curious looks. She held up her hand to keep them from following. Suyin rounded the corner of a building before she turned to face her. The Xingese woman hesitated, avoiding Riza's eyes. "I am not sure where to begin."

Riza crossed her arms over her middle - a paltry shield that offered little comfort. "Just tell me."

Suyin pursed her lips. "You know I can sense things. Things others cannot."

Riza nodded.

"On the day I healed you, I sensed something. Your wounds were simple enough: cuts clearly made from a knife..." Suyin's eyes flashed. "But there was a darkness to them. They were made with a deep hate." She frowned. "I was curious, because I sensed something similar the day I arrived in this country."

"What was it?" Riza curled in on herself ever so slightly. "What did you sense?"

"Exactly what we saw on the papers we found in the reservoir," she replied. "A dark kind of alkahestry, meant to twist the mind. It was fainter... weaker than what was used on you. I did not realize at first what it was. But it was enough for me to know something was amiss. This girl practices an art that is forbidden in Xing, a crime that demands exile. Even the smallest child knows it for what it is: a perversion - a _desecration_ - of the sacred joining of two souls, a dark art created long ago by an alkahestrist known as Ashika."

"I don't understand."

Suyin frowned and shook her head. "It does not matter. What you must know is that when I healed you, I sensed something odd. I was suspicious. There had to be a connection. I looked into your sleeping mind for answers."

"...And what did you see?" Riza asked softly, not sure if she wanted to know.

"A trace of her," Suyin said. She hesitated. "Planted inside you."

"She planted..." Riza said faintly. Something at the base of her skull seemed to throb - a worm awakened by the sound of its name. A tiny thing, unnoticed until drawn to the forefront. "Suyin, what did she do to me?"

"I do not know," the Xingese woman said, avoiding Riza's eyes. "I dared not touch it. I did not know what it would do to you."

Riza was panting now, panicked. She suddenly felt as though she had a bomb tucked inside her brain, threatening to explode at any moment. She silently carried this thing - this _taint_ - for several days now, blissfully unaware. "What... how... " She stumbled back two steps and clutched her head.

Suyin came closer, lifting one hand as though to touch the captain's shoulder, then seemed to think better of it. She drew away. "I am sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Riza cried. "How could you keep this from me?"

"I tried..." Suyin began, but then she sighed angrily through her nose. "No. You are right. There is no excuse. I can only tell you that I was afraid, Captain. I am one of only a handful of people who knows this art, and at one time was tasked with protecting it. I thought I had escaped that burden, but it seems my past has come to haunt me again." The Xingese woman's voice grew thick. "I was afraid."

"Will it... Is it going to kill me?"

"No," Suyin said, her eyes suddenly fierce. "It will not."

"How can you be so sure?" Hawkeye said, struggling to keep the quaver from her voice. "You just said -"

"I am sure." Suyin's hand swept the air as though to bat something away. "It is hard to explain. But I have looked into your sleeping mind, Riza Hawkeye, and I know the heart of you. You will overcome this thing." Her voice softened. "You are stronger than you could ever know."

Riza let out a strangled sob and shook her head. She did not feel that way. She was so exhausted and afraid. She did not have the strength to bear this. Not alone. Not without him.

Suyin paused thoughtfully, hands quiet and steady at her sides. "You will find him," she said softly, as though to answer the despair that roared from the depths of Riza's heart. "If there is such a thing as destiny, it was meant for you."

Riza expelled a long breath as something unwound inside her. "I... know." The muscles of her neck and arms relaxed, settled by a sudden and profound certainty. She did not understand why, but she knew Suyin was right. She knew it in the same way she felt Mustang's injuries from across the desert. She knew it with the same same soul-shaking emotion she had the night he kissed her. She knew it in the deepest, most secret part of her. Riza's hands unclenched at her sides as new strength leaked into them. She could do this. She had to. And if Suyin was right, she might be the only one who could.

The Xingese woman waited patiently, utterly still.

After a last shuddering gasp, Riza nodded. "I'm ready," she said. "Let's go."

-o-o-o-

His scalp itched and the scent of stagnant water tickled his nose. He shifted and tried to lift a hand to rub away the sticky sensation that teased his temple, but his arm was outstretched at his side, bound stiffly to something cold and hard. He swung his head only to find it heavy, thick and full. Roy moaned and struggled to open his eyes.

Darkness. He should have expected nothing less. He was blind, after all. But there was an aching hollowness to the black that spoke of a large and cavernous space. His breaths reverberated off stony walls, echoing back to him after what seemed like ages. The ground where he sat was cool and hard, the feel of earth untouched by the sun's warmth. He was underground - that much was certain.

Mustang frowned and tried to gather his scattered memories. He could hardly recall the frantic moments leading to his capture. Most of what he remembered was drowned in an overwhelming sense of fear. Havoc was clearly not himself, animated by some outside force. He threatened Breda and Roy had no choice but to go with him. The others in camp would have no idea where he went. He feared one of his subordinates might do something stupid in an effort to find him.

"Havoc?" he called to the darkness. The only reply was the echo of his own voice. Roy pulled at the bindings that stretched his arms painfully to either side. He could not move. "Havoc!"

"I have taken care of him." It was a girl's voice, high pitched and keening. "You needn't worry about the lieutenant."

Roy growled and pulled roughly at his bindings. "Who are you?"

"You don't remember me?" the girl pouted. "That hurts, Mustang. I could never forget you. Not after all these years." There was the sound of footsteps over sand-covered stone. "_Murderer_."

Roy stilled as sudden realization struck him. "...It was you, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

Anger welled inside him. "You're responsible. Hawkeye, the water trucks... everything. You were the one inside Havoc..."

"Very good, Mustang," the girl sighed. "You're just as smart as they say. And yet you fail to See." Fingers grazed his cheek and Roy jerked away. They felt rough; marbled as though carved from wood. "But before this night ends, you will. You will learn to fear the name Ashika."

-o-o-o-

**A/N: I'm not exactly happy with this installment, but... meh. I just wanted to get something out to you folks. I cannot begin to express how much I've anticipated writing the next few chapters, though. They've been stuck in my mind for over a year now.**

**This chap is not beta'd so apologies for the typos and poor grammar! Thanks to mebh for trying to steer me in the right direction.**

**Please review! Don't be shy, folks. Too many of you are shy. Stop being so damn shy!**

**Next Chapter****: Mew**


	19. Mew

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Chapter 19****: Mew ****( / my****o͞o / )**

**1. **_**noun**_** - a secret place or hideaway**

**2. **_**verb**_** - to confine or tether**

**3. **_**noun**_** - a high-pitched cry**

**4. **_**noun**_** - a cage for hawks**

-o-o-o-

It was impossible.

She imagined this moment for so long that now it seemed impossible. Mustang, her enemy - the man she hated for so long - lay before her, still as death. At first, she could do nothing but stare at him: The way his body hung loosely from the bindings she created. How his lax face was creased with worry. Even while unconscious she felt his draw - that intangible magnetism others found so irresistible. But there was a defeat in his shoulders she knew he did not have before. She had broken him.

Ashika felt awake for the first time in years. Her body was alive, filled with energy. Sensations - scents, colors, sounds - felt astounding and fresh, as though this was her first day in the living world. The scars on her face and hands burned like they had when they were new. This was her time. After so many years, she achieved the what she set out to accomplish.

She could not help but notice that he had not escaped life unscathed, either. He was as scarred and worn as she - perhaps more so. His hands were close to ruined: pierced through by blades, scabs still thick and healing. His face was haggard, older than it had right to be. There were lines on his brow and dark circles under his eyes. He was thin, drowning in his uniform. All this was her doing, the sole purpose of every drop of blood and sweat she spilled on her journey here. She had no regrets. She was only giving back what was given.

Ashika considered waking him - ripping him from naive unconsciousness. But instead she turned away. It would be better if he awoke alone, blind. Besides, she needed time to prepare. Tight anticipation shivered down her arms and into her core. She was too excited - prone to hasty decisions. She wanted to enjoy this. Her path took her past the body of the blond lieutenant. Having served his purpose, Havoc was nothing to her now. It was a simple matter to disable him once he brought Mustang to the cave, like turning a switch off. He was at her disposal should she need him, ready and willing for her command.

She settled on the floor of the southmost tunnel. The cave stretched from the main cavern and lead to a stagnant pool of water at its end. It was difficult to force herself into a calm state of mind, but she managed it after a time. Jiao taught her how to do it long ago. She was never good at it, slipping and sliding instead of floating in a sea of calm as her teacher described, but it was enough to keep her occupied while she waited. It was less than an hour later when she felt Mustang stir: a tiny flutter at the edge of her consciousness. She drew a deep breath and rose from where she knelt.

He was calling out to his lieutenant as she approached, his face twisted into a mask of fear. Little did he know Havoc lay at his feet only a few paces away. She smiled. The general's blindness was perfect: an opportune disability. He seemed to have lost all ability to access the power he had in the desert the day he attacked the Resistence, and for that she was grateful. She was still unsure what to make of his strange non-sight.

"Havoc!"

"I have taken care of him," she said, and the words felt like velvet in her mouth. "You needn't worry about the lieutenant."

Mustang growled and struggled against the stone bindings that held his arms out to either side. A thrill traveled through her chest to see how small and weak he looked, seemingly swallowed by his coat. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"You don't remember me?" she said. She licked her lips and watched the way the sinew popped from his neck. "That hurts, Mustang. I could never forget you. Not after all these years." She stepped closer - near enough to inhale his smoky scent. "_Murderer_."

"...It was you, wasn't it?"

_He knows_. "Yes." Ashika smiled.

"You're responsible," he continued. "Hawkeye, the water trucks... everything. You were the one inside Havoc..."

"Very good, Mustang," she sighed. "You're just as smart as they say. And yet you fail to See." Pulled by a sudden need, she reached out and brushed her fingers over his cheek. Mustang jerked away, a look of revulsion on his face. Blood roared through her ears. "But before this night ends, you will. You will learn to fear the name Ashika."

A look of contemplation crossed his face. "You're... an Ishvalan?"

"Correct again, _general_." The word came out a curse. "As was my mother and brother, people whose lives _you_ destroyed." She reached into a pocket and dug out a piece of chalk. "Tell me," she said, leaning down to draw a wide circle on the floor. "Did you enjoy it? You must have, or you wouldn't have done it again and again. So many people, Mustang. Are you _proud_ of it? Do you boast about it to your men?"

Mustang let out a long breath. "You have it wrong." The general seemed to wilt in his bindings, pressed down by a heavy load. "There isn't a day that goes by that I do not regret what happened. What... I did."

Ashika sneered at him from over her sketch. "How convenient for you."

"I was too idealistic," he said. "I tricked myself into believing the military was what is was not." He shook his head. "I don't follow those kind of orders anymore. I haven't for a long time."

"What's done is done, general." Her hand paused, halfway through drawing a straight line. "Funny how our past comes back to haunt us, isn't it? Your regret does not change that my family is dead. It doesn't change how I was robbed of my childhood. It doesn't change the fact that I _suffered_ - tossed away like a piece of shit wherever I went."

Mustang's brows furrowed. He lifted his head, somehow managing to stare straight into Ashika's eyes. Startled, she took an involuntary step back. There was a _nobility_ to him, an incredible power that came from _him_, not Alchemy. A man once destined for great things. "I don't enjoy killing," Mustang said, some strength returning to his voice. "I never have. I made a mistake."

The Ishvalan girl snarled as her thoughts strayed unbidden to Devon: her mistake. She was the one who drove him over the edge of insanity. Ashika could never undo what she did to him, and the regret of it tore at her every day. It stung to think she had something in common with a monster.

"I can't change the past," Mustang continued, "but I can try to rectify it."

"Oh?" Ashika said. "Is that what you were thinking when you attacked that Resistance rabble?" She coughed out a laugh. "How could you be so _hasty_, Mustang?"

Mustang's brows furrowed. "That was your plan, wasn't it? You wanted us at odds. You planted that symbol on Hawkeye's back."

"How could I resist?" Ashika paused and tapped her chin with one finger. "What is that saying? 'Love makes fools of us all'? I'd have never thought it was true until I saw you with her. You performed beautifully, by the way. It was such a treat to see you destroy everything you worked for." She brushed her hands on her thighs and chalk dust billowed in the air between them. "How did it feel, Mustang? To watch the world crumble around you and know it was all your fault?"

She hit all the right spots. Ashika watched with glee as his hands clenched and unclenched, testing the boundaries of his restraints. The air snapped between their bodies, filled with an electric crackle that had nothing to do with alchemy. Mustang's chest heaved and his lips were ice white. He was furious.

"She was the perfect target." Ashika said, watching his face closely. "I have you to thank for that, of course. I would have never thought to use the captain had it not been for you." The array complete, she glanced up at Mustang and smiled. "You may be blind, but your eyes give away more than you think. She was a pretty, stupid thing."

Mustang strained at his bindings, his face twisted in fury. "Don't you _dare_ -"

"_Silence_," Ashika hissed. "I _dare_ because I _can_. You have no idea how powerful I've become, Mustang. You have no _idea_. But I shall rectify that soon enough. I have a little surprise waiting in your precious camps"

The general stilled. "What... do you mean?"

"I _mean_ you to watch as I destroy everything you worked for." She paused, chuckling at her own silly joke. "Ah. How could I forget? You can't _see_!" Ashika reached up and wiped her chalk stained hands roughly over the general's eyes, hard enough to hurt. "Perhaps you can close your eyes and imagine it.." The smile on her face felt wide and wicked and perfect.

With a hooting laugh, Ashika leaned forward to activate the array.

-o-o-o-

The explosions were as shocking as they were violent. The ground vibrated beneath the truck wheels, rattling the windows. For an instant they swayed in their seats as the vehicle teetered from one side to the other, nearly capsizing before falling to the sand with a concussive jolt. Riza twisted in her seat to see a column of fire climb to the sky from the very heart of the Amestrian camp. An instant later, she saw an identical one lift from the Ishvalan side: Twin pillars of light, stark against the night sky.

"Stop the truck!" Riza shouted. She could not remember opening the door, let alone stepping out of the vehicle, but the next thing she knew she was standing ankle-deep in red-painted sand. Though the fire was hundreds of meters away, she could feel the heat of it on her face.

"So," Suyin said, appearing to her right. "She has made her move."

"No shit," Rebecca said, jogging to join her. "The hell _is_ this, Ri?"

The engine cut behind them, and Falman and Marcoh stumbled out of the truck. Both seemed too shocked for words.

Riza watched the rising smoke in the distance, dread growing in her heart. The explosion was more than devastating: it meant they had to abandon their mission. "We have to go back." She felt something pull in her chest, as though the words had ripped the last remnant of hope. Her voice died to a half-hearted whisper. "We have to go back."

"This is what we feared would happen," Marcoh muttered. "The girl attacked the camps after all. She might even be using the Philosopher's stone to -"

"No," Suyin said, frowning. "This is alkahestry - nothing more." She shifted and tipped her head up as though to sniff the air. "There will be more arrays triggered. Soon."

"More explosions?" Falman said. "Captain, we have to go back! They'll need help!"

Rebecca nodded. "We can rescue Mustang later." she agreed. Her eyes darted over to her friend. "Sorry, Ri."

Hawkeye shook her head. She felt empty and alone, torn between choices. For the first time she questioned what duty meant or even dictated. All she knew was that something throbbed at the base of her skull like a faraway heartbeat. "You're right."

"No," said Suyin. "You must continue, Captain."

"Are you crazy?" Rebecca shouted, sweeping her arm toward the pillars of fire. "Perhaps you missed the exploding buildings!"

"I miss nothing," replied Suyin cooly.

Rebecca simply growled and and directed her attention back to Riza. "We're going back, right Ri? I mean... it's pretty clear this girl is going for the camps. Maybe we can catch her and squeeze information from her. Find Mustang that way... not with all this -" She waggled her fingers in the air." "- voodoo."

"Both camps at once, though?" said Falman. "It doesn't seem right. Why would she do that?"

"A distraction?" Marcoh offered.

"Perhaps." Riza turned away to gather her thoughts. Their shadows danced over the sand like red-rimmed phantoms. In the distance, she could still feel a pull, like the draw of a lodestone. Mustang was there, waiting for her. "Perhaps," she whispered again.

"You journey on. I will return to your camp."

The four Amestrians turned to face the Xingese woman, who stared back with ever-present calm.

"No." Riza shook her head. "I can't let you do that."

"The doctor is correct," said Suyin. "This is a distraction. We must not allow ourselves to be fooled."

"We're soldiers. It's _our_ responsibility to protect the camps," Rebecca said. She glanced at Riza for affirmation, but only received a rueful frown.

"You will protect them by sending me," Suyin said. "This is alkahestry. I can stop it." She met Riza's eyes, black on brown. "You must go on."

Rebecca snorted. "Both camps? You think you can make it to _both_ camps in time? What, can your alka-whatever help you teleport? They're nearly two miles apart!

Suyin sent the bushy-haired woman a sidelong glance. It was not kind. "You are right," she said. Her eyes slid past Catalina to rest on Falman. "I'll take that one."

"C-Captain?" Falman stuttered.

It was strange - how quickly the decision came. It was simple and easy and _right _- the same as her decision to follow Mustang after the war. It almost felt... outside of her, ordained by some higher power. The orders spilled from her lips before they fully formed in her mind, and with them came a feeling of intense relief. "Yes. She's right. Go with her, Falman. Marcoh, Catalina and I will continue the rescue. Do whatever Suyin asks you to do, Falman. Treat her orders as though they come from me."

Rebecca took hold of her arm. "Riza, are you sure that's -"

"Yes," Hawkeye said, pulling free without looking at her friend. Her eyes were locked with Suyin's. The Xingese woman nodded encouragingly and Riza pressed on. "Go back to the truck with Marcoh, Rebecca. I'll be there in a moment." She nodded at the grey-haired man. "Falman, grab whatever gear you need. Quickly." As they turned away to complete their tasks, Riza ignored the hurt and confusion in their eyes. There was no time for them. She had no space left in her heart.

Suyin waited for the others to shuffle towards the truck before she stepped close, her voice nothing more than a murmur. "This will not be an easy task."

"And yet you volunteer," Riza said. She placed her hand on the other woman's arm. "Thank you, Suyin... for going back."

Suyin gave her a wry look. "I do this to pay back a debt, Captain. It was a large debt, but not so big as this. When I am through, it is _I_ who will be owed a favor." She smiled and it touched her eyes for the first time. "I am selfish, you see."

"I already owe you a lot," Hawkeye murmured. "It feels wrong to ask for more."

"That is true," Suyin agreed. "You owe much." Yet the smile fell from her face, replaced with guilt. "But I fear I leave you alone to face your greatest challenge yet."

The truck engine roared to life. Falman was on his way; she could hear his footsteps draw near. Their time was drawing to a close more quickly than she could have hoped. Riza squeezed her eyes shut and took a great breath. "I'm... lost, Suyin. I usually know my role - what I'm meant to do, but... the game is different this time."

"It is only natural." She brought her hand up to rest on top of Riza's. "You are right to fear. She will try to use her power against you." She squeezed, a gentle and reassuring pressure - a gesture of support. "But you have a weapon."

"And what's that?" Riza opened her eyes and looked to the other woman, unsure of what she hoped to find there.

"It is a pure and simple thing," Suyin said, her face calm as an undisturbed pond. "Most good things are." She nodded to Falman and released Riza's hand. "You must only remember the part of you that helps him See." Suyin turned away and started up at a jog, gliding over the sand as the lieutenant slogged after her. Her last words came trailing behind her, like a whispered secret in the night.

"Good luck, Riza."

-o-o-o-

Roy strained against the bindings until his shoulders popped. He hardly felt the pain. Something had rippled through the ground a moment ago: a power that was both strange and familiar. He knew alkahestry when he felt it. "What did you do?!" he snarled.

Cloth rustled in the space before him; the girl had risen and was now likely standing. "I triggered an array," she said. "You must know by now that alkahestry can act at a distance. There are identical arrays in your camps." She laughed. "I will let you put together the rest."

"Why?" he struggled again but only managed to rip something in his back. "Haven't your people suffered enough? Why would you attack them too?"

"You're one to talk about my people's suffering," Ashika said. There was the sound of metal on cloth. "Seeing as you killed them in droves without so much as a second thought."

"You -" Mustang sucked in a breath as a cool blade sliced through his uniform and into the skin of one shoulder. Blood soaked through the wool and down his chest.

"Hurt?" the girl whispered. Alchemy sparked in the air between them, rock flowed like a river and something struck him sharply on the side of his face. "Imagine your skin burning. Imagine your flesh melting from your bones."

Mustang hung from his bindings, desperately trying to gather his thoughts. The knife darted out again, this time catching him below the ribs. Startled, he stifled a cry behind pursed lips. The pain came after, and he let out a soft moan from the back of his throat. Mustang trembled, unsure of where the next blow would fall.

"I expected you to fight more," the girl teased. "Where was that fire I saw that day you burned that fat Lieutenant?"

Mustang slowly pulled himself up so he was sitting upright again. Sweat dripped into his wounds and they burned, just as Ashika wanted. "I'm tired of fighting."

"_She_ fought," Ashika replied. "She fought me when I cut _her_." The flat of her blade came to rest of Mustang's cheek. "You should have seen the way she looked that night. All that blood..."

"Don't." His hands slowly curled into fists. The scars in his palms stretched; he felt cracks form in the hardened skin where the swords pierced him. When did that happen? It seemed so long ago.

"I was shocked, Mustang," Ashika said. "The scars on her back." She turned the knife slightly, putting more weight behind it, and the blade bit into his skin. "You burned her. I know because I live with the same scars. I thought such a punishment was only reserved for Ishvalans... but you burned _her_."

"_Don't_."

"Your most trusted subordinate?" The knife traveled upwards and the tip teased the outer flesh of his ear. "You _mutilated_ her, as you did me. Tell me -" Her wrist flicked and the edge caught in the cartilage, cleaving it in two. Mustang shuddered, managing to suppress a scream by biting his tongue. His mouth filled with blood. "Are you even capable of touching something without destroying it?"

Mustang spat out a mouthful and rubbed his lips on one shoulder. Blood streamed down the side of his face and bubbled into his ear. This girl intended to kill him slowly. He leaned back on the cool stone and closed his eyes, readying himself for the next blow, but something stirred on the edge of his consciousness. Roy lifted his head, called by a sound, simple and pure as a bell.

"Pay attention," Ashika snarled. Her fist cracked against his temple - once, twice. "I want you to experience this, Mustang. I want you to feel every cut." Her fingers clasped over the front of Roy's throat like tiny claws.

Roy shook his head, an impossible smile blooming on his lips. He should have known. He should have trusted in her. But things had grown so strained between them; he began to doubt. Warmth spread into his deadened limbs and his heart jolted, sluggishly awakening in his chest. She was like a campfire - comforting and familiar. She had always been that way.

"What is it?" the girl growled. Her fingers tightened over Mustang's neck. "Why are you smiling?"

Mustang shook his head, listening for a voice only he could hear.

-o-o-o-

Their destination was startlingly easy to find: a simple hole in the ground at the base of a ruined building, open for all to see. It was a different location from the one that led to the hidden reservoir Riza and Suyin found earlier, and she knew by the scent of stagnant water emanating from the opening that it led to one of the pools of undrinkable water. Nothing stirred in the rubble. Everything was still in the abandoned city. The world was holding its breath.

Her companions were largely silent and had been for the majority of the trip, though Rebecca's eyes were large and anxious in the rearview mirror. Riza knew her best friend was itching to talk to her, to ask her _why_ - what the hell she was doing. Riza was not sure she could tell her. At this point she was acting on instinct alone. Fueled by fear. Driven by something she did not understand.

They left the truck without bothering to hide it, gathering what supplies they could carry without weighing them down too much. There was a distinct possibility they would need to make a quick getaway, and it would be good to have the car on hand. Riza armed herself methodically, avoiding Rebecca's eyes, while Marcoh awkwardly strapped a single gun to his belt.

"Not even sure if I know how to work this damn thing," he grumbled, fingers fumbling over the leather straps.

"We'll cover you," Hawkeye reassured. "Just focus on the Philosopher's stone. Is there anything you can do to get it out of her hands?"

"If I could, I would have used it on Crimson when I had the chance," said Marcoh. He sent Riza an apologetic look. "I'll do my best. I might be able to try a few tricks."

"I've got some, too," Rebecca grinned. She motioned to a line of cylindrical rods strapped to her belt. "Flash bombs."

"Do what you can." Hawkeye said. She looked at her friend meaningfully. "Stay with Marcoh. No matter what."

"Riza..."

"Just do what I say," she snapped before she managed regain her composure. Her nerves were completely frayed. She had not slept in over forty-eight hours. Riza sighed and reached out to briefly squeeze her the other woman's shoulder. "... Please, Rebecca."

"Of course." Catalina said. A strange expression stole over her face and she hesitated, biting her lip. "Riza -"

"We'll talk after, okay?" Riza said with a watery smile. She turned away before Rebecca could see her expression crack. She was not sure if there would be an after, but that was not something Catalina needed to know.

A wall of heat hit her face the instant she stepped inside the dark opening: retained heat from the day. She could smell moisture; it mixed with the sweat that already dampened her temples and neck. Marcoh shuffled behind her, muttering softly under his breath. She could tell he was nervous. He had witnessed what the girl was capable of, and he knew better than she how a Philosopher's stone could amplify her power. Worse, Marcoh was not trained to fight like many alchemists. Rebecca trailed the group, uncharacteristically silent.

The journey to the base of the cavern was more difficult than the one that led to the hidden reservoir. There were no torches to guide the way, nor were there convenient alchemically-carved stairs. Before long the trio was stumbling blindly in the dark. Marcoh had a near-devastating fall before they had to concede: They needed light if they were to go any further. The doctor fashioned something with alchemy from a few supplies in his pockets: a small phosphorus light, easily doused.

Sweat was streaming down Hawkeye's back by the time the path leveled off. A light flickered ahead and she could hear the sound of distant, echoing voices. They were nearing their target. Riza crouched, signaling Marcoh to dim his light. Her stomach churned. The odds were not in her favor. Their enemy wielded a Stone - an enemy who Suyin claimed had planted something insider her. As usual, the Xingese woman was more cryptic than she was reassuring, and something told Riza this battle could well be her last. She swallowed her fear and began to slowly crawl forward. The others followed.

It seemed to take forever, but the group finally made their way to the edge of the cavern. It was a wide open space, not dissimilar to the one she and Suyin found not one day before. A few ever-burning torches dotted the stone walls, casting an eerie purple glow on the cave floor. The mouths of several tunnels emptied into the space, but all were too dark to see where they led. Riza could see no water but she could smell it: sulfurous, like rotting eggs. At the very center of the space was a rock formation that sprang from the earth, unnaturally smooth and perfectly square. Havoc lay several paces from the spot; she was relieved to see his chest rise and fall in even breaths. He seemed to be asleep. Not far away, a hooded figure crouched near the rocks, and below her lay -

"Roy," she whispered. Riza felt a sudden urge to draw her weapon, to run out to the center of the cave and _act_. But it was too dangerous - _she_ was too dangerous. She had a Philosopher's stone, after all. Riza turned to face the others. "I'll go first," she whispered. "And try to distract her. You two circle around as best you can, out of sight if possible. When I give the signal, take her from behind. Rebecca..." Riza paused as she worked around the tight feeling in her throat. "If Havoc's still... if you think there's a chance... I want you to get him out of here."

Rebecca's eyes were large and luminous, like two lanterns in the darkness. "Are you sure -?"

Riza nodded. "Yes. I'm sure."

"Captain," Marcoh whispered. "I see something moving at the other side of the cave."

Riza spun around, squinting into the flickering darkness. The doctor was right. A tiny figure - no more than a child - slowly skirted around the edge of the cave. She could just make out a mess of tangled hair trailing down his back...

"Devon," she whispered. Her heart nearly broke. What was he doing here? _Go back_, she silently urged. _It's not safe_.

"Who?" Rebecca said. She crawled to Hawkeye's side.

Riza shook her head. "One of the lost children of Ishval. Suyin and I found him in the ruins."

"What should we do about him?"

"I don't know," Riza sighed. "Just... try your best to stay out of sight. Things aren't going to go smoothly as it is."

Rebecca's lips twisted into a wry grin and she patted Hawkeye on the shoulder. "Good luck, Ri."

"You too."

Hawkeye watched the pair make their way to the opposite side of the tunnel, towards a series of rock formations that might provide some cover. Seeing they were finally in place, she reached for her gun.

The pistol was heavy in her hand - heavier than she ever remembered it. It was the one Roy had given her after Grumman's party, what seemed like ages ago. It was the same one he had given her to end his life. It was made for her, perfect in every way. Such a thing could only be made with love - an understanding of the person who would wield it. The metal felt warm beneath her fingers as she remembered the weight of his hands on hers. It reminded her of who she was - how she came to be - and for the first time in weeks she found focus. She stopped trembling.

_Calm_. The voice sounded strangely familiar. _Breathe._

Riza exhaled and smoothly rose from her hiding place, gun pointed directly at the girl's head.

-o-o-o-

Ashika froze. Mustang's eyes had jumped to the space above her shoulder. He had been acting strangely for the last quarter hour, as though he knew something she did not. Her knife cuts hardly seemed to touch him anymore. It was not until she directed her attention away from him that she sensed it: there were several other people in the cave. She had been found. Ashika spun to see Captain Hawkeye standing at the opening to one of the tunnels.

"You," she sneered.

Hawkeye merely frowned and walked smoothly forward, gun at the ready. "Sir?" she called.

"Captain," Mustang said. His voice was an odd mixture of relief and pride.

"Not another step closer," Ashika said. She brought the knife up to press the tip against Mustang's cheek. "Or you will not be happy with the result." She dug it into his skin. He sucked a breath through his teeth and tried to pull away, but the back of his head butted against the stone wall.

Hawkeye paused. She seemed to be studying Ashika, learning how she moved. Her hands were perfectly steady; her gun never wavered. "What do you want?"

"Him." Ashika waved the knife in Mustang's direction. A bead of blood flicked from the edge and spattered on the floor below. "Dead."

"That's not going to happen."

"Oh?" she said. "I think you're mistaken, Captain. I'll tell you what's going to happen." She reached into her pocket and palmed the Philosopher's stone. "First, your little friends are going to come out of their hiding places." She channeled a bit of alchemy and the earth opened like a split melon. The crack raced to the other end of the cave, growing larger as it traveled. There was a series of shouts, then two Amestrians stumbled into the open. She recognized both: the fool doctor who lost the stone and the bushy-haired Amestrian from the caravan. She, too, had a gun in her hands.

"Riza?" the woman called, stepping in front of the alchemist.

"Stay put," said Hawkeye. Her eyes never left Mustang, her goal.

Ashika grinned. "I'm not finished. I need to tell you what's going to happen next. Second... you're all going to die." She reached out with alkahestry, and the blond lieutenant opened his eyes. He stood without hesitation and pulled out his gun.

"H- Havoc?" the brunette gasped as the barrel of his weapon came to rest on her. She just managed to push the doctor out of the way and duck for cover before he fired; a bullet hole marred the wall where they once stood. Havoc frowned and strode toward where the pair hid, gun at the ready

"Now for you," Ashika said, glancing back at the captain. "Such a pleasure getting to do this a second time."

"No -" Mustang grunted, trying again to break free. "Captain, stay back! She has a Philosopher's stone!"

"Wait your turn," Ashika said. She reached out to stroke him gently on the throat. Her fingers wiped the blood away, leaving white streaks like claw marks. She smiled and lazily turned to face Hawkeye, only to freeze. Her breath caught in her throat. "...Devon?"

Her brother stood before the captain with arms outstretched, his eyes wide and more sane than they had been in years. Ashika eyed him with a strange mixture of relief and fury. Devon was alive. He was _alive_ and found his way back to her. But what was he doing? Was he _protecting_ her?

"Devon!" she called. "Get away from her!"

Her brother murmured something under his breath and took a step backwards, so that his tangled hair brushed against Hawkeye's belly. The soldier seemed as surprised as Ashika, staring down at him with a mixture of surprise and wonder. She slowly reached down and placed her free hand on Devon's shoulder, and the boy pressed into her, seemingly comforted by her touch.

"Devon!" Ashika screeched. "It's not safe. Come to me! Now!"

Hawkeye looked up; her hand slid over the boy's shoulder and onto his chest. "He doesn't want to go with you."

"Shut the hell up!" Ashika shouted. She reached into the Stone and alchemy sparked from her shoulders and into to the tips of her fingers. "You don't know anything about us! You don't know him!" At the other end of the cave there were more gunshots; the brunette peaked from behind a pile of rubble, holding Havoc off by firing at the ground just beneath his was clear she was intentially missing, but it worked: Havoc dashed to the side and ducked behind a pile of low-lying stone. "Get them, you idiot!" Ashika screamed. "Shoot them!"

"He's your brother, isn't he?" Hawkeye said quietly. A strange look passed over her face and her fingers spread over Devon's chest to pull him closer. "He survived the war with you."

"Shut up!" Ashika screamed. Red leaked into the edges of her vision and the ground at her feet vibrated with the energy of the Philosopher's stone. "Come, Devon," she cried, desperately. She felt something wet on her cheeks. She knew they were tears and she was ashamed of how weak she had become.

Devon shook his head and leaned closer into the woman's side. "Mother," he said in Ishvalan.

It was the first word he said since she performed alkahestry on him, and the hurt of it drove through like the sweet edge of a knife. He left her. He betrayed her. After all these years of protecting him, keeping him safe from the cruelty of strangers, he sided with an Amestrian woman. She had never felt such fury, such unbridled hatred. A transmutation circle coalesced in her mind and before she knew it the earth parted at her feet. It ripped open like a curtain towards the captain and her brother. Hawkeye cried out in alarm and gathered the boy in her arms, but it was too late. The cave shook and rocks fell from the ceiling like rain. Dust billowed up in a blinding cloud, and in seconds Ashika saw nothing.

"Captain!" Mustang shouted. "Captain!" He was close to her and relatively protected, but even blind he could not miss the chaos that rumbled through the cavern.

Ashika squinted into the gloom. Torchlight played over the dust, casting odd shadows everywhere. A strange silence fell, and even Havoc - still in her thrall - stopped to watch what would happen next. After a few breathless moments, Ashika saw movement through the cloud. She stepped forward, hesitant. "Devon...?"

Captain Hawkeye crouched over a tiny form curled on the floor . Devon was utterly still, a deathly pallor showing through his tan. His eyes were closed and he did not stir. The woman reached forward to brush a few strands of hair out of the boy's face.

"No," Ashika whispered. "No." The word came out a moan. She stumbled back and choked on her own horror. What had she done? What had she _done_?

Hawkeye looked up at her sadly. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when she saw the look on Ashika's face.

"You made me do this," Ashika said. Spit flew from between her lips and dribbled down her chin. "It's your fault!"

The captain retrieved her weapon and stood. Though she was not visibly injured, she was unsteady, and nearly stumbled as she found her feet. But her lips were pressed into a determined line. She carefully stepped around the boy, placing her body between her and her brother.

Ashika let out a strangled sob and stumbled back a few paces. "It's your fault," she said, half dazed. Devon was dead. He was dead and nothing could take it back. "You _made_ me do this. You didn't _understand_." Ashika stopped and stared across the cavern. A raw need to hurt burned in her breast. "But I'll make you," she growled. Called by her unspoken command, Lieutenant Havoc broke away from the brunette and began to stride towards her. The gun fell from his hand, forgotten. "I'll _make_ you understand."

Mustang lifted his head, seeming to sense her intent. "Ashika...?" he said cautiously.

"I'll show you what it is to lose a brother," she whispered. Havoc stood before her, open and willing. His eyes gazed at something over her head, as blind and empty as the general's. He did nothing to defend himself, even as Ashika plunged her knife into his belly. She pushed the blade further, up to the hilt, and he did not so much as grunt. Ashika placed her hand on his chest and pushed. Havoc let out a soft sigh as he slid backwards and off the blade.

"Havoc!" Rebecca screamed. She dashed toward the lieutenant, managing to ease his back to the floor before his skull hit stone. She cradled Havoc's head on her lap and glared up at the Ishvalan girl, completely unafraid. Ashika coolly wiped her knife over her thigh and watched the spreading stain on the lieutenant's midsection with disinterest.

After a moment, the dullness left Havoc's eyes. He blinked, confused. "Where...?" His meandering gaze fell on the wound in his stomach, to the red that marred the blue wool. "Shit," he whispered. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped in Rebecca's arms.

"Havoc," she sobbed, clutching his head between her two dirtied hands. Her thumbs stroked his cheeks, leaving sweat-stained smears.

Ashika turned away. She did not regret what she did and would do it again in a heartbeat. Devon was dead; she had nothing left to lose. Mustang was next, and this time she was not interesting in playing. The general was only a few dozen feet away, and it was clear he knew what had happened. A strange, growling whimper emanated from the back of his throat and he strained against the stone bindings with all his remaining strength.

"Rebecca!" Captain Hawkeye's voice was clear, sharp and forceful. "Now would be a good time."

Ashika turned to look at the brunette. She saw something silent pass between the two women and she froze, unsure. Rebecca nodded and suddenly Hawkeye was running - sprinting across the cave, straight for Mustang. Ashika cried out and gathered her power to lash out, but a flash in the corner of her vision stopped her before she could act. The brunette had thrown something in the air - a cylindrical rod that spun end over end for what seemed an eternity. Ashika paused, eyes caught by the movement. She did not notice the lieutenant press her face into Havoc's coat, nor how the captain shielded her eyes.

The spinning rod exploded, and light flooded the cavern like a dawning star.

-o-o-o-

Riza watched with satisfaction as Ashika shrieked and sunk to the ground. Without lids to protect her eyes, she received the full brunt of the flash bomb. Catalina popped up immediately, and with a small grunt pulled Havoc's much larger body up and over her shoulders. Marcoh emerged from his hiding place and hovered behind her, studying his wound with worried eyes.

"Get him out of here!" Riza called. "Take the doctor with you!"

"What about you?" Rebecca called. She wobbled slightly; Havoc was no easy burden.

"I'll be right behind you." She watched Catalina turn away before returning to her task. "Sir." Riza sank to her knees in front of Mustang, scanning his body for injuries. Spots flew in her eyes from the brightness of the flash bomb, but not so much that she could not see how badly the girl had hurt him. His uniform was darkened with patches of blood. A nasty bruise colored the space above one eye and there was a cut across his cheek and through his ear. He hung loose from his bindings, exhausted.

"Hello, captain," Roy said softly, managing a weak smile.

"You okay, sir?" She hesitated as she reached out to pry at the bindings, almost afraid to touch him. But her fingers brushed against his skin as they dug at the stone, and it was reassuring to know he was _there_, still alive.

"I'll be better when we get out of here," Mustang said. He paused "Havoc...?"

Riza's heart clenched. "Later."

"Mustang!" the shriek was otherworldly, echoing weirdly off the stone walls. Ashika would not be incapacitated for long. If anything, she was more of a threat now, furious and willing to lash out even if it meant bringing the cave down on top of them.

"Captain..." Roy's voice had a defeated tone to it, the same as the day she slapped him. Riza was still tugging on the bindings and it was quickly becoming clear it was useless. "Go."

"Not without you." She pulled out a gun and drove it against the bindings, not caring how it might break. It did not so much as chip the surface. There were no cracks, nothing - the stone was perfectly smooth. Riza's heart thundered in her chest. She had to get them out.

Ashika had stumbled to her feet, one hand clasped over her lidless eyes. The other gripped the Philosopher's stone.

"Riza," Mustang said, staring at her sadly with those damn sightless eyes. "Please go."

"No," she near-sobbed, throwing all her weight behind the gun now. She didn't come all this way to leave him behind - couldn't he see? "Don't you dare ask me that. Not now!"

"I'll kill you!" Ashika shrieked. The air crackled with red light and suddenly the ground pitched from under her knees. Something solid hit Riza's side and she flew through the air like a broken doll. The last thing she remembered was Mustang's face, shocked and horrified, lips forming her name in a silent scream.

"Riza!"

Her body impacted the stone wall with a sickening crunch and she fell to the floor in a heap.

-o-o-o-

Ashika was livid. Hate boiled in her like a hot poison. She should have suspected the women planned something, but she did not expect the blinding light. They moved so quickly; she was still reeling from the remnants of the flash bomb. Then she realized the doctor and two lieutenants were missing. They slipped through her fingers, and would likely return with reinforcements.

The captain stirred, still stunned from her crushing impact against the wall. She was bleeding from a deep cut above one eye and winced as she pushed herself to her feet. But even in her state she managed to pull a gun and aim at Ashika with fairly steady hands.

"How _dare_ you?" Ashika whispered. Red lightning wreathed her like a cape and the cave floor shifted under her feet. A solid barrier - three feet thick - rose from the floor and blocked the entrance to the tunnel where Rebecca and the doctor had disappeared.

"Hawkeye?" Mustang called, craning his neck toward the place where the captain fell.

"I'm okay, sir."

"No," Ashika said. "That's not true. You might as well put that thing away, Captain. Your stupid weapon isn't going to do you any good."

"Oh?" Riza said. Her hands were sure, even as blood dripped into her eye and down her chin. "Shall we test that?"

"Careful," Mustang said with a shadow of his old, confident grin. "She doesn't miss."

"You're right sir," the captain said grimly. "I don't."

Ashika growled. It was strange, watching the two at work. There was an easy grace to it: two soldiers cut from the same fabric. Two halves of a whole. It made her sick.

"Hawkeye," Mustang said. "Take care of her."

The words rang in Ashika's head like a bell. They sounded so familiar, like some half-remembered dream. She heard him say those words before. Ashika froze, feeling the terrible pull of memory once again. "No," she groaned, pounding at her temples with two tiny fists. "Not _now_."

_Take care of her, Hawkeye_.

"No!" Ashika shrieked. The captain was staring at her over the barrel of her gun with focused intent. But that was wrong. That was not how she remembered it.

_Take care of her_.

"Captain?" Mustang called out uncertainly. The smile fell from his face and suddenly it seemed much younger than it had a moment before, but still haggard from dozens of sleepless nights.

_Can you... take her?_ The voice was so sad, aged from years locked in the recesses of Ashika's mind. She sunk to her knees, curling like a child. Something ached inside her chest, and Ashika gasped as memory flooded her like a storm, like a raging fire. She felt the Ishvalan sun on her raw, burned skin. And suddenly she was _there_, reliving her worst memories..

_Everything seemed to happen at once. Mother lumbered forward, her arms open to the soldiers waiting on the streets below. Agne screamed and stumbled towards the door. She tripped and fell against her mother's side. Through the corner of her vision, Agne could see an indistinct blue shape. She turned her head. A man stood just outside, one gloved hand held aloft before him. His eyes widened slightly at her sudden appearance in the doorway. His fingers jerked in surprise._

_They made a tiny _snick_._

"No," Ashika groaned, clutching her head and pressing her palms into it with all her might. "Not this. Anything but this."

_It burned. It burned. Ishvara take her, it burned._

_Agne shrieked as the flames enveloped her. Shouts sounded from the soldiers outside, and their forms blurred in a flurry of movement. Agne thrashed in a vain attempt to escape the merciless inferno. Her fire-stung eyes swung up to her mother, who stood utterly still, arms open. Her beautiful hair was aflame; the burnished gold now transformed to fiery red._

The memory was familiar - how could she forget? She spent years trying to escape it. But there was a new component to it now: a moment in time, awoken by the sound of Mustang's voice. She _saw_. She _remembered_.

"_Mustang, stop!"_

"_She's just a kid..." The voice was young but broken. Something rustled over the crackle of the flame. "A fucking child -!"_

_A thick, tan cloth fell over Agne, followed by the heavy weight of hands, patting her furiously to put out the fire. Arms eased her to the ground. She tried to scream, to shriek, to do _anything_, but all breath had left her. Her body hurt everywhere. It was unbearable. Beside her, she could hear her mother's last, agonal breaths._

"_What the hell do you think you're doing? I gave you an order, Major!"_

_The cloth flew away and suddenly there was blinding light. "You did."_

_Agne tried to move, but the pain was too all-encompassing. From the corner of her vision, she could see her mother's hand, the flesh melted off like candle wax. Over the crest of Mother's burned hip she spied Devon, still hiding where she left him, his eyes opened far, far too wide. All the color had left his face. She silently begged him to stay where he was - to hide and not be seen._

"_I'm tired of your attitude, Flame. You're an Amestrian soldier. Your job is to follow orders."_

"_She was a _child_, __Colonel__." The alchemist's voice was tight. "I didn't come here to kill children."_

"_This is _war_ -"_

"_My God," murmured a third voice. "The kid's still alive."_

_There was a long pause. Agne tried to reach out, but only managed a whimpering plea, unable to even form words. _Help_, she __wanted to cry__. _Help me.

"_This is your fault, Mustang," the __colonel__ clipped. "Finish what you started."_

"_...Sir?"_

"_You heard me, coward."_

_There was a tense pause. "__Yes, sir__. But if it__'d be alright,__ I want to do this... alone."_

"_I should have known," the __colonel__ scoffed. "It was just like the general said: You alchemists are too soft for war."_

"_Respectfully, sir, I -"_

"_I don't really give a shit, Mustang," said the colonel. "You're a burden and a little weasel to boot. You wouldn't be part of my troop if you weren't for what you are. Just do your fucking job. That's all I ask." Boots shuffled over sand for a moment. "C'mon. Let's give the princess some privacy." The group shuffled away, leaving Mustang alone._

_Mustang waited a long time before he moved. He sighed deeply, then rounded Agne's burned body and crouched near her head, just inside her field of view. His eyes were dark - blacker than the little beetles that crawled out of the ground after the rains fell._

"_I'm sorry," he whispered. He reached out to brush back the few remaining strands of her hair._

_Agne gulped in a breath and tried to speak__, but __only managed a __long__ wheez__ing noise__. She wondered, briefly, what it would feel like to die. Surely it could not hurt more than she __did__ already. His brows were furrowed in concentration and she thought perhaps he was thinking the same thing. The two - man and girl - stared at each other for a long, endless moment. The sound of approaching footsteps pulled them from their silent reverie. Mustang looked up, relief apparent on his face._

"_You signaled for me, sir?" It was a woman's voice - slightly out of breath, as though she had recently jogged a distance._

"_You... saw what happened?"_

"_Yes," she said. "From my hide."_

"_I..." he paused and swallowed. "Can... you take her?"_

"_To the doctors from Risembool?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Alright." Her voice was like his: bereft of all life. There was a long pause. "What about him?"_

"_Who -?" Mustang looked up to meet the eyes of his companion, then swiveled to follow the line of her gaze. Devon shrunk back like a cornered animal, pinned by the eyes of two Amestrian soldiers. "Oh."_

_The woman rounded Agne's body and crouched in front of her brother, hand outstretched. "Hello," she murmured. "What's your name?" The soldier's hair was shorn short - blond, like their mother's._

"_You'll have to take him, too," Mustang said. "He won't survive out here alone."_

"_I'll try," she said. "But you know their supplies are limited..."_

"_I'll take care of that." A shadow darkened Mustang's face. "Hawkeye..."_

_She glanced at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were so sad. Sad but determined - driven by something much greater than she. "Later, sir."_

_He pursed his lips, but nodded. "Okay."_

_The blond woman reached out to Devon again, this time taking hold of his hand. She pulled him out of his hiding place gently, her face calm and patient._

_Mustang pushed up to stand. "I have to join up with the others."_

"_I know," she said, turning to face the major again. The two stared at one another for a long time. Something passed between them, spoken in a language only they knew._

"_Thank you," he said at last. He turned to go, but stopped and __looked __at her again. "Please," he said. "Take care of her, Hawkeye."_

"_I will."_

-o-o-o-

Riza knew an opportunity when she saw one. The girl had slumped into a ball, moaning in apparent agony. She did not know what was wrong with Ashika, but she did not have time to care. She had to act while she had the chance.

She could not recall sprinting so fast in all her life. Gun clutched in two bloody hands, she fell on the girl with all the fury and desperation she felt for the past few days. A single kick to the wrist was all that was necessary to knock the Philosopher's stone from the Ashika's hand. Another to the chest laid her out on the floor. The girl blinked stupidly for a moment, as though awoken from some unpleasant dream. It took a long time for her to focus on the captain standing above her. When she did, her lips thinned into a silent snarl.

"You're done," Riza said between gasps. Her side felt like fire and blood dripped into one eye, but her hands were steady. "You're beaten."

"Bitch," the girl hissed, spit flying from between her teeth. "I'm _never_ done. I won't be done until both of you are dead." She said the words, but there was little power to them. She appeared frightened and bewildered, her eyes wide and unfocused.

"Hawkeye...?" Mustang called from across the cave.

"I'm fine, sir. I've got her." Hawkeye's breathing was already slowing, more steady and even with each passing second. She knew her business, and Ashika was in her sights. "I'm not one to pay attention to empty threats," she said to the girl at her feet.

"Empty?" the girl laughed through bloodstained lips. "I will show you _emptiness_. You think you _won_? You think I didn't have a _plan_? You're _nothing_ to me - nothing more than a pawn waiting to be used."

"I'm no pawn." Riza said, fingers firm around the grip of her gun. "My piece has always been the queen."

"The queen?" Ashika wheezed. "A delusion. You're a pawn. You've always _been_ a pawn."

Riza nudged the girl in the side with her boot. "This is a delusion?"

Ashika laughed - a crazed, horrible, ugly thing that started out low and ended in a high, keening wail. For a moment, Hawkeye was convinced the girl was crying, but her face was contorted into what looked like a smile. "There is no such thing as reality," Ashika wheezed. "Life is just one unending nightmare."

Riza shook her head. "It... doesn't have to be."

Ashika's lip curled. "It _does_ have to be. I have _decided_ it will be this way. And I will decide how it will end." Her voice became sickly sweet. "Tell me, Captain... how is your head?"

"My... head?" Something throbbed at the base of her skull. Riza took an involuntary step back.

"Feel... full?" The girl lifted herself to her elbows, her eyes glowing and vicious. "Occupied, perhaps?"

"Hawkeye?" Mustang said, worry coloring his voice.

"What...?" Riza whispered. A wave of dizziness spilled over her. She heard Suyin's voice, so clear the woman might as well have been standing beside her. '_She planted a part of herself... in you_.' It could not be true. Such a thing was impossible. Ashika was trying to throw her off balance - frighten her. Hawkeye regripped her gun and reaffirmed her aim. "You're trying to trick me. It won't work."

"Oh," Ashika said. "I can assure you what you feel is quite real, Captain." The girl sat up further, eyes boring into Riza's. "Don't try to fight. It's useless."

"You -" Riza cried out as a white-hot needle pierced the place between her eyes. Her skull throbbed more violently now, beating in time with Ashika's heart. Her vision swam and blackness crept into its edges. Riza stumbled backwards, so dizzy now it was difficult to keep her balance.

"Riza?" Roy's voice was far away. "Riza!"

_She will try to use her power against you._

Ashika was standing in front of Hawkeye now, her scarred face hovering in a sea of mottled grey. Riza tried to lift her gun, but the Ishvalan girl batted it away like a plaything.

"Riza!" Roy was screaming but it sounded so dim.

_But you have a weapon._

Her head hurt horribly. Ashika was prying it open and Riza was helpless to stop her.

"Riza!"

_You must only remember the part of you that helps him __S__ee_.

She felt hardened fingers press against her forehead.

_See_.

And saw nothing but black.

-o-o-o-

**A/N: Apologies for the long wait between chapters. You guys have been really great - always patient and ever supportive. Thank ya!**

**Also sorry for the cliffhanger(s). I really, really can't help it.**

**Thanks to the awesome Disastergirl for the beta! Read her fic, **_**Phoenix**_**!**

**Next Chapter****: Bang (!)**


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